


our souls are made from stardust

by TheCockyUndead



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Torture, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Everyone Has Issues, F/M, Gen, I kind of don't remember anything, My First Work in This Fandom, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Season/Series 02, Season/Series 03, because it's not quite ready, because obviously now is the time to write a season 2/3 fic, but better late than never, but here we go, i haven't rewatched the show in a while and i'm making things up as i go, i probably shouldn't post this yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23451976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCockyUndead/pseuds/TheCockyUndead
Summary: Sometimes, Clarke wished that she hadn’t stayed in Arkadia, that she had left after making sure her people were safe.But when she had turned to Bellamy, lips opening to tell him that she was leaving, that he was in charge now, the words had died in her mouth...Surviving Mt. Weather was just the beginning, now Clarke and Bellamy need to learn to live with their actions, while they wait for the inevitable war that's coming for them.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake & Clarke Griffin, Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 42
Kudos: 109





	1. surviving is just the beginning

**[1]**

It was strange how much Bellamy hated this—arguing with Clarke. It wasn’t as easy as it used to be. Now, there was mutual respect and a friendship that was still new and hesitant, but of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to speak up when he disagreed with her, and it would never stop Clarke from calling him an ass and telling him that he needed to get his shit together.

“I said no, Bellamy,” Clarke said. She had her back to him, as if she was trying to ignore him, but Bellamy knew better. Her shoulders were hunched and her spine was ramrod straight; she was listening to every move he made.

“Yeah, well, remember the part where you’re not in charge of me?” Bellamy shot back. “That _still_ applies.”

“Okay.” Clarke was struggling to keep her voice even and calm, but Bellamy could hear the frustration layered in her words. He knew it was more than just the fact that he was disobeying her commands. She had more going on, more brewing under the surface of her skin, that she wasn’t sharing with anyone.

“Clarke?” Bellamy asked when she didn’t say anything for a long beat. He reached out and touched a hand to her shoulder. She twitched and turned to face him, eyes bright.

For a moment, Bellamy thought she was trying to hide tears, but then he saw the way her mouth was pressed into a thin line and her hands that were clenched into white fists down at her sides, and he knew she wasn’t upset, she was furious.

He didn’t doubt that she could, and would, hit him on the jaw if he kept arguing with her, if he pushed her too hard.

So naturally, he kept going.

“We don’t know what the surviving Mountain Men are going to do. All we know is that they’re out there, watching us from their bunker—the bunker that _we_ left in ruins.”

“I know.”

“We’ve got Grounders somewhere out there,” Bellamy kept going. “And Lexa too.”

Clarke flinched, so minutely that it could have been imagined, but Bellamy saw.

“We can’t afford to be sitting on our hands, _waiting_ for them to make a move against us.”

“I _know_ , Bellamy,” Clarke snapped, her cool finally breaking.

Bellamy felt a flare of satisfaction in his chest, but guilt quickly chased it away. He didn’t want to make Clarke angry or upset or whatever it was that she felt when she thought about Lexa’s betrayal. It was just that since they had all come down the mountain, with the bitter taste of their victory in their mouths, Clarke had gone quiet. She didn’t argue with anyone but him anymore, and she barely talked to anyone. She wasn’t herself, and Bellamy hated it.

A part of him knew that maybe it was because he wanted to go quiet like she had, to shut out the voices of the Mountain Men that he had helped kill. A part of him was screaming that it wasn’t _fair_ that Clarke got to retreat in on herself, and he didn’t.

They were supposed to work through this. The two of them. _Together_.

“Bellamy?” Clarke’s voice had softened, and Bellamy realized that he had stopped yelling at her and had been standing there, just staring at her.

He blinked, focused, and caught her eye. Blue and sharp. There was a knowing look glinting in them; she _knew_ what he was thinking. She might be the only one who knew. His heart clenched, but he wasn’t sure why.

“Fine,” Clarke said. “Go. Pick your group and go.” She jerked her chin towards the forest that surrounded their gated community.

He cleared his throat. “Thanks, Princess, but like I said, I don’t need your permission. This whole thing here,” he waved a hand between the two of them, “was just a courtesy.”

Clarke stared at him, eyes narrowing, but then she snorted and ducked her head, trying to hide her smile, and just like that the tension broke.

And Bellamy felt like he could breathe again.

.

.

Clarke could feel her mother’s eyes on her. She could feel the worry, the fear, and the anger that was coming from Abby in waves. It had been like this since she had come down from the mountain with Bellamy and the others. Sometimes, Clarke wished that she hadn’t stayed in Arkadia, that she had left after making sure her people were safe.

But when she had turned to Bellamy, lips opening to tell him that she was leaving, that he was in charge now, the words had died in her mouth.

His dark eyes were pinned on her, chasms into his soul, mirroring her own silent and miserable thoughts back to her. He didn’t want her to go, not after everything, and Clarke suddenly didn’t want to leave him. So she had stayed.

But now, only two months since Mt. Weather, Clarke wished that she had listened to her instincts and had gone, deep into the forest, to lose herself and try to wash away the guilt and blood from the mountain. 

_Our actions_ , Bellamy would say in his deep and gravelly voice. _You weren’t alone, Clarke._

But she felt like she was. It wasn’t fair to Bellamy and Monty, who were hurting just as much as she was, but Clarke still felt the weight of her actions, the way the lever felt in her hand as she pulled it and killed everyone in Mt. Weather.

She had stayed for Bellamy, but now she almost wished that she hadn’t. She wished that she had been selfish and had run away.

“Clarke.” Abby’s voice rang out through the small clearing.

Clarke didn’t turn, pretended she couldn’t hear her mother, and started to walk away from the garden patch she had been overseeing, but she wasn’t really necessary; Lincoln and Octavia were there, making sure that the Arkadians weren’t planting anything dangerous.

“Clarke.” Abby was following her now, but Clarke didn’t slow her quick pace. She kept moving down the fence line, nodding and giving smiles of encouragement to her people, the last of the 100.

A knot twisted in her stomach. She should have acted sooner—more of them would be alive if she had.

Bellamy would tell her to stop thinking like that, but she never voiced her thoughts aloud to him, and she secretly knew that he thought the same. He had regrets about his own actions, and how he didn’t save the kids that had unofficially elected him their leader when they had landed on Earth. But they didn't talk about that.

A hand wrapped around her arm, and Clarke didn’t even think before she twisted around, jerking out of the grip and throwing a quick jab at the offending person’s throat.

Clarke’s eyes widened and she pulled her punch at the last second, a hairsbreadth away from hitting Abby in the throat.

“Oh,” Clarke managed, taking a few quick steps back, creating some distance between herself and her mother.

Abby’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, but that was the only sign of her distress. She raised her hands and gave Clarke a piercing look. “Oh?” she said.

“Oh,” Clarke repeated, annoyance rising. She had only reacted the way that any of them would have. They had survived on the ground for this long for a reason.

Abby hummed, a frown on her face, but let it slid. She crossed her arms over her chest, and Clarke knew that she was preparing to give a long lecture. “You’ve been dodging me all day. I want to talk to you, Clarke.”

“Sorry,” Clarke said. She didn’t mean it and they both knew it. “I’ve been busy.” That much was true. Despite not being at war with anyone currently, the 100 still looked to her for guidance in this shaky peace.

“You look worn out,” Abby said, eyes raking over her. “You should take a break. Let someone else be in charge for a while.”

Clarke frowned. “I’m not in charge. You’re the chancellor, Mom.”

Abby’s eyebrows rose. “What happened to: _You may be the chancellor, but I’m in charge_?”

Clarke offered her a shrug; that was still true as far as all of the 100 were concerned. The adults didn’t truly know what it was like on the ground; they hadn’t been the ones plunged head first into a war they knew nothing about. But, not one of the newcomers to Earth, including Abby, would ever accept Clarke or Bellamy as leaders of the surviving Sky People.

The adults still thought of them as children, and Clarke didn’t think there was much else she could do to convince them otherwise. It bothered her, that she had fought and bled for all of them, and they didn’t seem to notice or care. They gave her looks when she walked by, pitying looks, that generally meant they thought she should go inside the ruins of the Arc and help her mother in the medical center. 

She knew that Bellamy was less inclined to do sit back and take the looks and comments of them being children, too young to make decisions. He had been thrown into the brig more than once in the last two months for picking fights with the Arkadians who had come down after the 100. Abby was going easy on him, only giving him a few days in the brig to cool off. If they had still been in space the punishment would’ve been harsher; Bellamy probably would have been floated by now.

That thought sent a shiver down Clarke’s spine, so she pushed it aside.

“I want you to take a break,” Abby continued, and Clarke focused on her mother again. “You’re going to make yourself sick if you keep going at this rate.”

“There’s no one else—” Clarke started to protest, but Abby cut her off.

“That’s not true. You’re not irreplaceable, Clarke. There are other, capable people here that can step up and take some of your load off. You need to rest.”

Clarke bit the inside of her cheek, feeling the hot sting of her teeth cutting into the soft skin. The insistent voices that had started after Mt. Weather started whispering again: she wasn’t good for anything now that there was peace.

“Mom, please,” Clarke tried again, but Abby was shaking her head.

“That wasn’t a suggestion from your mother. It’s an order from your Chancellor.”

Clarke was mildly offended, and she didn’t hide the frown that slipped onto her face. It didn’t seem to bother Abby, who stared at Clarke until she nodded. “Fine.”

Abby nodded back and Clarke could see the flicker of relief flash across her face; she had been expecting a fight. Clarke hid a wince; she didn’t mean to be difficult, she just wasn’t going to act like the same kid Abby remembered. She _couldn’t_ be.

She turned on her heel without another word, leaving Abby behind, mouth pressed into a thin line.

Inside, the Arc was cool and she shivered, tugging at her jacket. Her boots made soft sounds as she walked down the corridors, passing unfamiliar faces. It was strange that she didn’t know every single person she was interacting with now. Before, in space, Clarke never really saw the poorer parts of the Arc, but generally knew most everyone. Now, on the ground, she couldn’t remember anyone from before. She didn’t know why, if it was her brain dismissing those memories as unimportant, or if she just didn’t care anymore.

“Hey, Clarke.” There was an irregular thumping behind her, making it easy for Clarke to guess who was coming up behind her.

“Raven?” Clarke paused, standing to the side to make room for people to continue past her in the hall. They gave her annoyed glances, but mostly ignored her.

Raven reached Clarke’s side, her long ponytail swinging out behind her as her body swayed to match her uneven gait.

As always, Clarke stomach clenched at the sight of Raven and her leg brace. She knew it wasn’t her fault that Raven had taken a bullet to her spine and now would never be able to walk properly again, and from the look of it, Raven was grimly pushing on with her life, refusing to let her leg define her. But it was a struggle for Clarke to remind herself that she couldn’t control everything, couldn’t protect everyone, no matter how hard she tried.

“What’s up?” Clarke asked when Raven came to a stop and pressed her back against the metal wall, taking a deep breath.

Raven swiped a hand across her face, trying to hide the grimace of pain that flared in her eyes.

“I’m looking for Monty. Have you seen him?”

Clarke was already shaking her head. “Not for a few hours.” It was possible that he had gone with Bellamy this morning, something that she was already regretting giving in to. He had been gone for too long, and she wasn’t even sure what he thought he was going to achieve by taking scouts out into the woods. They weren’t hunting or gathering herbs for the hospital, they were on a mission to search for any sign of the Mountain Men or Grounders. It was like Bellamy couldn’t shut off the part of himself that was braced for an attack. He wasn’t the type of person that was going to just stand by and wait for war to come to their new home.

“He might with Bellamy outside the fence,” Clarke finally said.

Raven frowned. “What are they doing out there? How many times does that make this week?”

Clarke’s jaw clenched and she jerked her head around to focus on Raven. “What?”

Raven blinked, guilt flashing in her eyes. She ducked her head, fiddling with the top straps of her leg brace.

“Raven, what does that mean?” Clarke asked lowly, breath hitching in her lungs as she tried to control the emotions that were quickly rising.

Raven mumbled something, eyes still downcast, and Clarke could feel anger, bubbling in her chest and threatening to burst, but it wouldn’t be fair to take it out on Raven, who didn't have much to do with Bellamy’s lies as far as Clarke could tell.

“Raven,” Clarke said, forcing herself to calm down. She needed to save that anger for when the real person who deserved it was present.

Raven looked up, mouth twisting. “Listen, I don’t want to get in the middle of this. Really—I don’t give a shit, but Bellamy asked me to make him an escape route through the fence line on the south side, one that no one would know about. I figured _you_ knew, so I did it.” She paused, waiting to see how Clarke was taking this. Clarke forced out a nod. “He didn’t tell me until later that you didn’t know and that he wanted to keep it that way.”

“Why?” Clarke burst out. It wasn’t a question that Raven could answer, and she shrugged in response.

“I don’t know, but maybe the two of you should figure it out and stop putting me in the middle of it.” Raven’s voice was sharp; she had gotten over her guilt quickly, but Clarke didn’t blame her.

“Believe me, Bellamy and I are going to have words when he gets back,” Clarke muttered.

Raven’s mouth spilt into a grin suddenly. “I’d hate to be him.”

A little bit of Clarke’s anger loosened and she smiled back, but it was short lived as Miller whizzed by them.

“Hey,” Clarke said, pushing off the wall to chase after the other boy. She threw a half-wave at Raven, but was already concentrating on the next problem. “Miller! I know you can hear me.”

Miller sort of slowed, but didn’t stop. “I don’t have time to chat right now, Clarke.”

“What’s the hurry?” Clarke demanded, picking up her pace so that she was side by side with Miller. “I thought you were outside the fence with Bellamy.”

Miller gave her a sidelong look, and a thrill of renewed frustration rose in Clarke’s chest; how many of the 100 were lying to her?

“I was,” Miller said carefully, “but Bellamy sent me back early.”

Clarke opened her mouth to ask why, but Miller came to an abrupt stop, and she didn’t have to ask. They were standing outside the room they were using for their makeshift hospital.

“Oh,” Clarke said through numb lips. “Who?”

Miller wasn’t rushing inside, and he had taken the time to talk to her, so whatever it was, it probably wasn’t life-threatening, but Clarke was having a hard time telling that to her wildly beating heart.

“Uh, we found Murphy.”

Clarke blinked; that’s not what she had been expecting. Murphy had left Arkadia months ago, before they had won the war against the Mountain Men, and she frankly, hadn’t given him a second thought. She never expected to see him again, figuring that he would find some rock to crawl under and survive whatever Earth threw his way.

“Is he…?”

“Hurt?” Miller supplied when Clarke didn’t continue. “Yeah, but he’s alive. Pretty dehydrated, but just cuts and bruises mostly. His ankle's fucked up though. Bellamy sent me ahead to find Abby or Jackson to come meet them at the gate.”

“My mom’s outside,” Clarke said, but she glanced into the med center just to make sure. It was empty; Jackson was probably making his rounds too.

Miller huffed out an annoyed breath. “Then I made this trip for nothing.”

“Not for nothing,” Clarke said as they spun on their heels and set off back the way they came, “you found me.”

Miller cast her a wary look, suddenly realizing that he must have somehow put Bellamy in Clarke’s sights.

“Wait, Clarke, don’t…” He trailed off when she shot him a glare. “Just don’t kill him,” he finally said.

“I can’t make any promises,” Clarke said, and then focused on finding Bellamy.

.

.

The sun hit Clarke as soon as she stepped out into the open air. She blinked rapidly, eyes adjusting to the light as she set off down the dirt road that had been constructed only a few days ago, to the main gate.

There was already a knot of people gathered, blocking Clarke’s view of what was going on, but thanks to Miller, she had a pretty good idea. Using her elbows and brute force, Clarke fought her way through bodies until she was at the front of the crowd. She paused, taking a moment to assess the situation.

Bellamy was standing in the thick of it, but of course he was. At his feet, Murphy was stretched out, eyes screwed shut as Abby knelt by him, gently prodding at his foot that was crudely splint with some strip of cloth and a thick stick.

Clarke focused on Murphy first, knowing that if she looked at Bellamy for longer than a second she was going to lose it. Murphy was thin and dirty, and his hair was matted into dreadlocks while his skin was littered with patches of dried blood and bruises. He looked like he had been through hell, but considering it was Murphy, that didn’t really surprise Clarke.

“Murphy,” she said, breaking out of the crowd and crouching down next to him.

Murphy’s eyes snapped open and he twitched, yelping as his ankle was jostled. He threw Clarke a glare. “Griffin.” He paused for a short breath. “We’ve gotta stop meeting like this.”

Despite herself, a smile quirked on her lips. “Yeah, no shit.” Her smile fell away. “We’ll need to talk after my mom patches you up.”

To her surprise, Murphy didn’t protest, only nodded and closed his eyes again, tipping his head back against the hard packed ground.

Clarke took a breath and then looked up to Bellamy. He was looking down at her, face closed off in a way that she hadn’t seen in a while; he knew what was coming.

She slowly stood up, and carefully stepped around Murphy so that she was standing toe to toe with Bellamy.

“You and I need to talk,” she said, surprised that she managed to keep her voice calm. Maybe this conversation wouldn’t be as painful as she thought; there was a chance that they could keep it civil.

Bellamy shook his head. “Later.”

And just like that, all of Clarke’s cool went out the window.

“No, _now_!” Clarke snapped, jabbing at finger into Bellamy’s chest. He looked down at it and then knocked it away. “You need to explain to me just what the hell you think you’re doing out there!"

“I don’t need to explain myself—”

“I talked to Raven and she told me what you’ve been doing, or at least as much as she knows,” Clarke said, talking over him.

Bellamy’s lips curled and he shot a look over Clarke’s head, presumably trying to find Raven to glare at her.

“You’re putting yourself _and_ our people at risk,” Clarke continued, voice rising. Bellamy’s eyes snapped back down to hers, anger flashing in them. “And for what? You won’t even tell me what you’re doing.”

“Do I even have to?” Bellamy hissed through his clenched teeth. “You know, as well as I do, what’s out there. I’m not going to sit on my ass, waiting for them to come and finish what they started!” His voice rose and he towered over her. “And just because you don’t agree with me, doesn’t mean that I’m going to stop doing what I think is best for us.”

“What’s best for us is for you to use your head,” Clarke shouted, matching his volume. “You’re running out there half-cocked with no idea of what you’re doing.”

“As opposed to you?” Bellamy interjected with a low laugh. “You’re not doing a _damn_ thing. I’ve been waiting for you, waiting for months for you to wake up and remember that we’ve still got enemies out there who’d like to see us dead.”

Clarke sputtered. Her fists clenched into tight fists at her sides as her blood rushed, hot and fast, to her cheeks. Her knuckles were _aching_ to take a swing at him, and Bellamy jutted out his chin, daring her to do it.

“Come on,” Bellamy sneered, voice dropping. “Are you gonna do something _now_? Then do it. I’m right here, Clarke.”

He was on a crash course to meeting Clarke’s fist with his face, and Clarke was more than willing to give him what he was begging for.

She took a swing, clumsy and wide, not at all what she had learned from surviving the ground. He ducked it easily, and threw her a mocking smile.

“Oh, fuck you,” Clarke snapped, and then gut punched him. He doubled over with a wheeze that sounded more like a laugh.

“C’mon,” he bit out, straightening. “That’s all you’ve got?”

“I said, _fuck you_!” Clarke screamed, throwing both hands out to slam into his shoulders, but he was like an immovable boulder and her hands bounced off, palms stinging from the impact.

“Yeah?” Bellamy yelled back. His chest was heaving, as if he had a tenuous hold on his own anger and it was pleading to get out. “Same to you.” 

Clarke’s eyes stung, and she saw the look of regret flash on Bellamy’s face. For a long beat, they stared at each other, wondering just how they had escalated the situation so badly.

It was then that they both abruptly became aware of their audience.

Bellamy was the first to break eye contact with her as he briefly closed his eyes and wiped a hand down his face before glancing to his group behind him. Clarke followed his gaze, noting the pale faces that looked back at them.

Monty and Harper stood close together, hands locked tightly; she didn’t think they realized they had joined hands, but she knew it must have happened at some point during the screaming match.

Her shoulders sagged and she heaved out a shaky breath; no one was supposed to hear all that, especially the 100. They didn’t deserve that, not after everything they’d been through. The least she and Bellamy could do was hold it together until they were in private.

“I didn’t realize mom and dad were on the outs,” Murphy suddenly said, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen over the crowd.

Clarke glanced down at him. He was still stretched out on the dirt, upper body propped up on his elbows, but he didn’t look like he was in pain anymore; probably because he was too delighted to have witnessed the 100’s leaders completely lose it in front of everyone.

“I’m not your mom, Murphy,” Clarke snapped. “Thank God.”

“Shut _up_ , Murphy,” Bellamy added.

Murphy snorted and shifted his position. “At least the two of you can still agree that I’m the scum of the Earth, and probably space too. Glad to be of some help.”

Clarke risked a look at Bellamy, but he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were fixed on Abby, shuttered and unreadable.

A stone slid down Clarke’s throat and settled in her stomach and she followed his eyes to her mom.

Abby was still crouched by Murphy’s feet, but the bandages in her hands were held in white, shaking fists. Her face was pale and her mouth was pressed tight. Her eyes were flicking from Bellamy to Clarke, but Clarke didn’t know what her mom was thinking. It suddenly occurred to her that Abby had all the power here; she and Bellamy were still acting like they were in charge, like this was mere days after the dropship landing and they were grappling for control, but the truth was that they weren’t in control of _anything_.

Abby and Kane could throw them into the brig, take away food rations, or any other number of punishments for this display. Those were too harsh, Clarke knew, but it didn’t stop her from feeling like she was spinning wildly into open air with no way to land on solid ground.

“Blake.” Right on time, Kane pushed his way through the silent crowd. “A word.”

Bellamy’s mouth twisted and he gave Kane a belligerent look, but then nodded. He turned, facing Monty and the others. “Put your gear away and get some food.” He paused and lowered his voice. “I’m sorry…I’ll talk to all of you later.”

Kane waited, more patiently than Clarke would have thought, but she knew that things had changed for the sharp and righteous man since landing on Earth.

“That goes for all of you as well,” Kane said, facing the crowd and raising his voice. “There’s work to be done.”

After a hesitant beat, the crowd quietly dispersed, leaving only Clarke and Bellamy, and Abby and Murphy still on the ground.

Kane strode closer, giving Clarke an appraising look as he slid by her.

“Are we going to have this talk here or…?” Bellamy asked Kane, head cocking to the side and a mocking smile on his lips. 

Clarke wondered if she could hit him again.

“Yes,” Kane said, not rising to Bellamy’s bait. He turned to include Clarke. “You should stay too.”

Clarke didn’t bother telling him that she hadn’t planned on leaving.

“I don’t know what happened in the mountain—”

Bellamy opened his mouth, ready to feed them the lie that he and Clarke had decided on, but Kane held up a hand, stopping him.

“I know you’re not telling us everything, and I don’t care as long as what you’re hiding doesn’t put our people in danger.” He paused, eyes jumping from Clarke to Bellamy. “Does it? Does it put our people into danger?”

Bellamy caught Clarke’s eyes, and she knew without having to speak what he was asking. “No,” she said, eyeing Kane. “It doesn’t. We told you everything.” That was a lie, and everyone knew it. “We got our people out of there, but not everyone is…there’s still a threat in the mountain. Cage is alive and we’re not sure how many others are with him.” 

Kane waited, giving Clarke a long look. She stared back; he was waiting for her or Bellamy to tell them how they managed to save the 100, how they had gotten out of the mountain, how they were still alive.

But Clarke wasn’t going to. They didn’t need to know that she had pulled the lever, killing everyone inside—well, not everyone. Clarke didn’t know how many had survived, or how, but she did know they were still up there, hiding in their mountain with Cage leading them now.

Maybe it was stupid not to tell Abby or Kane, but Clarke already had the weight of Jasper’s accusing eyes on her, not to mention the rest of the 100; they all knew, but on the way down to Arkadia they had all quietly assured her that they weren’t going to talk about it.

Her stomach twisted painfully as she remembered their hollow eyes locked on hers, sober and completely ready to do what she wanted. They trusted her and Bellamy with their lives, and they weren’t going to betray her.

The truth was she didn’t want her mom to think of her as a murderer any more than she already did.

“Good,” Kane said, bringing Clarke’s attention back to him. “Our people are safe and that’s what matters.”

Bellamy nodded and then shifted to leave, but Kane blocked him.

“I’m not done, Bellamy.”

Bellamy scowled, but stayed.

“I don’t know what’s going on with the two of you—I don’t care, but you need to figure it out in your own time. We don’t need a shouting match on display for everyone to see. It’s bad for morale—”

Bellamy snorted, causing Kane to pin him with a pointed look.

“You two are important, and to see you fighting isn’t what our people need right now.”

Clarke frowned and opened her mouth, but Bellamy beat her to it.

“ _We’re_ important?” he demanded, voice quivering with pent up emotion. Clarke didn’t know if it was anger or something else. “Since when are we important.” He gestured between him and Clarke. “We’ve been _kids_ since you’ve landed, what’s changed?”

Kane shook his head. “You know what’s changed. The mountain happened.” He gave Bellamy a knowing look before turning to Clarke. “Lexa and her people happened. You both have proved yourselves to be more than capable. You’re clearly not children anymore.”

“No shit,” Bellamy muttered, raking an aggressive hand through his hair.

“Hang on just a minute,” Abby said, speaking up for the first time. She struggled to her feet, leaving Murphy. Her eyes were wild. “They’ve proved themselves, yes, but they’re still kids, _our_ kids.”

“Not me,” Bellamy said, looking at Abby with dark eyes. “My mom’s dead.”

“Mine too,” Murphy put in. “Thank you, Jaha.” The bitterness in his voice matched Bellamy’s, filling the space between them.

“So is my father,” Clarke added, feeling a vicious swell of cruel victory as Abby’s features twisted.

Kane was silent, a pained look on his face.

“Looks like we have both of you to thank for that,” Bellamy added, twisting the knife a little deeper. “So thank you for making sure we were completely ready for what was waiting for us on Earth.”

This time he didn’t wait for Kane to dismiss him. He brushed past both Abby and Kane, and to Clarke’s surprise, hooked his hand around her elbow, pulling her with him.

“Hey,” Murphy protested behind them, “don’t leave me with them.”

Bellamy ignored him, so Clarke did too.

He didn’t let go of her, and his fingers felt like hot coals through her coat, but she didn’t shrug him off.

They made it halfway back to the arc before he abruptly stopped and turned to face her, dropping his hand back to his side. He didn’t wait for her to speak. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t have to try and see that he was being genuine; his dark eyes had opened and it was like she could see into his soul again.

A wave of relief crashed into her, and she felt like she was back on even ground.

“Me too,” she said.

He gave her a short nod, and turned to go, but she reached out and snagged his arm. He glanced at her fingers and then back to her face.

“We still have to have that talk,” Clarke said.

Bellamy stared at her, and for a moment she was afraid that she had misjudged the moment, but then he rolled his eyes and nodded again. “Oh, I know. There’s no way I was getting away that easy.”

“You thought that was easy?” Clarke asked before she could stop herself. “I hit you.”

“Barely.”

Clarke’s eyes narrowed. “You were provoking me. I’ll do better next time.”

Bellamy grinned and Clarke felt like she was getting a blast of sunlight directly in her face. “I know you will. You’re one of those people that take that saying, _if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again_ , very seriously.”

“I do not,” Clarke started, outraged, but Bellamy was already turning to leave.

Her hand was still connected to his arm, so she followed him and he didn’t stop her.

.

.


	2. can we get up and try to feel ok again?

**[2]**

Bellamy should have known better than to lie to Clarke, but he had told himself that it wasn’t really lying—he just wasn’t telling her everything.

It hadn’t mattered that he was trying to protect her by keeping his trips outside the fence secret, he knew that was just an excuse he told himself to feel better.

But the truth was, that he could see Clarke beginning to crack under the strain of what had happened to her, and she was barely holding it together. She was working herself to the bone, trying to make sure that everyone else was okay while she clearly wasn’t. 

He knew that what had happened in the mountain and with the Grounders had almost destroyed her—because it had almost destroyed him too. He didn’t know how else to deal with this pain other than to push it down deep and focus on what was coming. The Mountain Men would come; it was only a question of _when_ , and Bellamy wasn’t planning on letting Cage and his people kill any more of the 100.

“Are you listening, Bell?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy said automatically, blinking and focusing on Octavia, who raised her eyebrows at him.

They were in his room, mostly because Bellamy felt too uncomfortable being in Octavia and Lincoln’s. He didn’t mind the thought of them together anymore, but looking at Lincoln reminded him of his betrayal under the mountain. He didn’t blame Lincoln, but that didn’t stop the tremors that shook his body when he remembered the shame of being stripped and washed with a hose or the horror of being shoved into a cage that barely fit him.

Octavia rolled her eyes and lightly smacked his arm. “Then you can give me answer.”

“To what?” Bellamy asked, and then winced.

“I _knew_ you weren’t listening.” Octavia shook her head, braided hair lashing out behind her. “I want to know what’s going on with you and Clarke.”

Bellamy’s eyes narrowed. “Nothing.”

“The screaming match outside wasn’t nothing.”

“Tempers got out of hand.” Bellamy shrugged. “We yell at each other all the time.”

“That was before.” Octavia was suddenly serious, pinning him with eyes that reminded Bellamy painfully of their mother. “This is _now_. I know that Mt. Weather changed both of you, it’s changed all of us, but you two are taking the weight of what had to be done and it’s hurting you both.” She paused, and Bellamy wondered when his little sister had grown up, but he didn’t have to think very hard. Earth was a harsh teacher; they all had to grow up in order to survive it. “Maybe you should try talking to her next time. Yelling in her face isn’t the best move.”

Bellamy made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat, but he couldn’t make any promises when it came to Clarke.

Their conversation petered out and Octavia left after a brief, hard embrace, leaving Bellamy alone in his room, and for the first time all day Bellamy allowed himself to feel the pain of what he had been pushing down since this morning.

It hit him hard, knocking the breath out of him, and he slid down to the metal floor, back pressed against his closed door. He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and burying his face to hide his tears. No one was here to see them, but that didn’t matter to Bellamy. In space, he hadn’t allowed himself to cry, not even when his mother was floated, because crying meant weakness and weakness meant death, and he was determined to _live_.

Things were different on the ground, but not different enough for him to show weakness, even in private.

After a minute of silent sobs, Bellamy decided that was enough and took a shuddering breath, lifting his face from his knees and swiping a hand against his cheeks. He grimaced at the wet, sticky feeling left behind on his skin, but didn’t get up to wash his face.

Sitting with his back pressed to the cold metal, it occurred to Bellamy that he, and all of the 100, were truly fucked up. They had been through too much, seen too much, to ever really be okay again.

Now, each one of them were faced with two choices: pick themselves up and get on with it or be swallowed by despair. To Bellamy, it was an easy choice; he wasn’t going to give up. Not now, not ever. They were still alive, still breathing, so he clung to that flicker of hope, and was determined not to let go.

But sometimes the pain of living overwhelmed him.

Bellamy cleared his throat and then stretched his legs out in front of him, wincing at their stiffness. He turned his mind to what was waiting for them outside the fence; it was a more pressing matter than the turmoil of emotions churning in his stomach.

Clarke acted like it wasn’t important, but Bellamy had been searching for any sign of Cage’s people, and so far hadn’t seen anything that suggested they were coming out of their mountain, but that didn’t mean they weren’t.

He didn’t know how many of them there were, but had learned months ago not to underestimate them, and he wasn’t going to wait around for them to kill more of his people.

Bellamy stood up, body aching. He grimaced and dug his thumb into his stiff neck. At this rate, he was going to wear himself out quickly, but Bellamy was pretending that he was invincible and would worry about his body breaking down when it _actually_ broke down.

He went to the washbowl on a small nightstand near his cot and threw a handful of water on his face. The coldness of it shocked him, and he shivered as water dripped down his neck into the open collar of his shirt.

There was no mirror in his room, but he was sure he looked like hell. He just didn’t really care.

He flung open his door and set off towards the med bay; Murphy owed him a talk.

Bellamy ignored the looks that people were shooting him as he brushed by. None of them were part of the 100, so he tried not to let it bother him, but their dismissive thoughts were clear on their faces, making it difficult. He had _bled_ for these people, but they didn’t seem to care.

Of course, he wasn’t making it easy for them, especially after the spectacle he and Clarke had put on for everyone outside. Only a few hours had passed and no one was going to forget it in a hurry.

If this was before they rest of the Ark had come, when it was just the dropship and the 100, no one would have cared that Bellamy and Clarke were shouting at each other; it had been fairly typical back then.

An amused smile flickered across his lips; he didn’t think he would ever be nostalgic for the dropship days, but here he was.

He turned a corner and ran directly into Clarke.

The breath huffed out of him as Clarke’s head knocked into his chest and her blonde hair got caught up in his mouth. She let out a yelp and stumbled backwards, body starting to tip. Bellamy, still spitting out hair, shot out his hands to catch Clarke’s shoulders, steadying her.

“Watch where you’re going—” Clarke started, angrily, a tone that simultaneously irritated him and made his heart thump fondly against his ribs. She cut herself off when she looked up, seeing who she had run into. She hooked a strand of her loose blonde hair behind her ear. “Oh, it’s you.”

“You sound thrilled about that.”

“I thought I’d already dealt with you today.”

Bellamy wasn’t sure if she was trying to pick a fight or not, but they had given the Arkadians enough entertainment for the day, so he chose to press down on his rising temper.

“So, you have a Bellamy Blake quota per day?” Bellamy asked, eyebrows rising. “One fight, one screaming match, and one apology and that’s it?”

Clarke stared at him, frown forming on her face, but then she shook her head and it disappeared. “No, that’s not what I meant. I just thought you were taking a break. Resting in your room or something.”

Bellamy shrugged, and then realized his hands were still pressing down on Clarke’s shoulders. He let go and dropped them back down to his sides, shifting uncomfortably. “You know me, Clarke, I’ve got things to do.”

Clarke’s eyes were on his hands, but then she blinked and then focused on his face again. “So, then what are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Bellamy said. “I’m going to talk to Murphy.”

A little huff of annoyed air puffed out of Clarke. “You didn’t have a nice long chat when you were outside the fence?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “You’re going the wrong way. Murphy’s in the med bay, not the brig.”

Bellamy stared at her and then coughed, trying to hide his embarrassment; he assumed that Murphy would be spending some time in the brig, but there really was no reason for that assumption other than Murphy being a son of bitch that probably deserved it.

“I’m heading that way too,” Clarke said. She side-stepped him and set off the way Bellamy had come. “You can come with,” she called over her shoulder.

Bellamy bit down hard on his bottom lip, stopping himself from snapping at her, and then spun around and fell in line with her.

They didn’t say anything more, walking in silence, until they reached the med bay. Bellamy got the door open with one hand and ushered Clarke in with the other.

Inside, Murphy was alone, stretched out on one of the white cots that lined one wall, but he looked up when the door shut behind them. He let out a groan and his head dropped back down to the pillow. “I should have known you two wouldn’t leave me alone for more than a few hours.”

“We need to talk about where you’ve been, Murphy,” Clarke said, striding forward with Bellamy close on her heels.

“You’re lucky the pain meds have kicked in,” Murphy muttered, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “I’m in a good mood.”

“You’re lucky that _we’re_ in a good mood,” Bellamy shot back, and then felt childish for rising to Murphy’s bait. 

Murphy sent him a toothy grin, as if he knew what was going through Bellamy’s head.

Bellamy’s hands curled into fists, and he gritted his teeth together. Murphy had been back all of a three hours and he was already getting under Bellamy’s skin.

“So, what do you want to know?” Murphy asked lazily, eyes flicking to Clarke, who stood closet to him, arms crossed over her chest.

“Let’s start with where you’ve been and where the others are,” Clarke said, taking the lead on the conversation, just like normal, but Bellamy didn’t mind; he thought that he might punch Murphy if he had to talk to him for longer than a few seconds.

Murphy’s eyes shuttered and he looked away briefly, all the mocking playfulness draining out of his body. He sagged against his cot, hands fisting into the sheet that covered him. “The others are dead. Jaha too.”

The weight of that sunk onto Bellamy’s shoulders and his head bowed. He had never liked Jaha, that much had been made clear when he had taken a shot at the other man, but Jaha had survived that and much more. It didn’t seem right that he should be dead.

“How?” Clarke finally asked, breaking the thick silence. Bellamy looked up from his muddy boots and back to Murphy.

Murphy shrugged and then grimaced at the movement. “The desert got half of them and Grounders got the rest. Except for me and Jaha. We got pretty far on his insane quest, even found some mansion in the middle of nowhere, but…by then he realized that this whole thing had been crazy. I don’t think he could handle any more deaths on his hands.”

Ah. So Jaha had taken his own life. Bellamy exchanged a glance with Clarke, and then turned back to Murphy. “But you survived.”

A bitter smile slipped onto Murphy’s lips. “It’s what I do.”

There was more to Murphy’s story, something he wasn’t telling them, but Bellamy was suddenly tired, too tired to try and get it out of him.

Evidently, Clarke felt the same. She reached forward and put her hand on Murphy’s shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze, surprising both Murphy and Bellamy. “I’m glad you’re alive, Murphy.”

Murphy eyed her hand on his shoulder and gave her a slow nod. “Me too.”

She let go and then turned to leave, motioning for Bellamy to follow.

“Hey,” Murphy called out, stopping them, “that wasn’t all.”

Clarke froze, finding Bellamy’s eyes with her abruptly worried ones. “What else,” she asked, facing Murphy again.

“There are Grounders out there,” he said, jerking his chin, “hiding along the fence line.”

Bellamy frowned, opening his mouth to demand how Murphy knew that, but Murphy kept going, “And from what I heard, you’ve got one hell of a problem coming down from the mountain.”

The air seemed to freeze around Bellamy, and he couldn’t move. Was it starting now, the thing that he had been waiting for since they had come back into the flimsy safety of Arkadia? He had expected fire and blood, a clear sign that war had started once again, not some rumor of promised violence.

“What?” There was a faint tremor in Clarke’s voice, and Bellamy’s head jerked around to eye her. Her face was pale, lips bloodless, but she wasn’t looking at him. 

“The Mountain Men,” Murphy said. “You didn’t kill all of them.”

“No shit,” Bellamy ground out, nails biting into his palms as his fists tightened, “we know that.”

“Oh good,” Murphy said, giving him a sardonic look, “because they want to kill you both for what you did.”

“How do you know—” Clarke started to demand, heat in her voice, but Murphy waved her off.

“I made a friend who told me—it’s not important.”

“Then why haven’t they killed us?” Bellamy said, glossing over the fact that _Murphy_ had a found a friend. “They have the resources to do it. They could wipe us out if they wanted.”

Murphy gave him a shrug, but Bellamy had stopped paying attention to him, his focus was only on Clarke now.

Her lips were tight and she shook her head at him. “Cage wants us to suffer…he wants _me_ to suffer.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Bellamy said immediately, knowing his promise was empty; Cage was more than capable of making them both pay for the mountain.

Clarke gave him a long look, easily seeing through his lie, and then shook her head again. Panic was beginning to flicker across her face, and Bellamy could see her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Hey,” Bellamy said, reaching out and pressing a hand to her forearm. He could feel her shaking beneath his palm, but maybe that wasn’t her; maybe he was the one shaking.

Clarke blinked hard, staring up at Bellamy. Her eyes were brimming with fear and anger. She caught his hand with one of hers, pinning it in place on her arm. After a moment, her breath slowed and her eyes snapped into a singlemindedness focus. 

“So what do you want to do?” she finally said, voice strong. She let go of his hand and he let it drop back down to his side.

Staring at down at Clarke, Bellamy took a breath, filling his lungs with cold air, and just like that, he was okay. _This_ is what he knew: constant war, battles to be fought and won, all with Clarke by his side. They were back where they had started, but it felt right, like this is where they were supposed to be.

A part of him wondered if they would ever know how to just _be_ without this furious, never ending, fight to survive. A deeper, twisted part of him whispered that he would never know peace.

“Bellamy?” Clarke said, bringing his attention back to her. “What are we going to do?”

“We get them before they get us,” he said easily. “We kill them this time. All of them.”

.

.

Clarke and Bellamy held a meeting with a most of the 100 an hour later. Night was falling quickly, dinner and curfew making it easier for them to be missed, but Bellamy didn’t care if Abby or Kane found them and demanded to know what was going on.

As far as he was concerned, this was about the 100 and no one else.

A nervous energy was pulsing through him, making his hands tremble. He had them jammed into his coat pockets so that no one would see, but with Clarke at his side, telling their people about Cage and the mountain, Bellamy didn’t think anyone was looking at him.

None of the 100 were taking the information well, anger and fear was rippling through them, and if Bellamy or Clarke didn’t do something panic was going to overwhelm the room.

“Cage is alive?” Raven said, voice rising over the angry buzz of the others. She had stood up, body tilted to keep her weight off her bad leg, but she didn’t look like she even cared about the pain that must have been radiating throughout her body.

Bellamy wanted to tell her to sit down, but she was furious, eyes bright, and was rubbing at her leg with a mindless determination; she wouldn’t listen to him, too intent on the lies that Bellamy and Clarke had told.

They had made the choice not to tell anyone about Cage in the hollow remains of the control room after Monty had run out to find Jasper and the others. It had been just the two of them, standing in the oppressive silence, and Bellamy had been staring at Clarke, who had been determinedly not looking at him, her eyes on the security screens.

That’s how they figured out that Cage was still alive; they had seen him running through the belly of the mountain, trying to get upstairs where his people had just died, his face a mask of fury.

Clarke had spun to face Bellamy, eyes sparking with unshed tears. _We need to get out of here. Now_. 

But Bellamy had already been moving. _What about him? Cage?_

 _Leave him._ Clarke had said, and brushed past Bellamy.

It wasn’t until they had been the last two in the mountain, their people already ushered outside, that they had seen Cage again, with more than five of his soldiers behind him.

But no one had made a move to kill the other. Cage’s anger was palpable from where he had stood, but he held a hand up, keeping his soldiers in check, so Bellamy and Clarke, tired of the blood and death had left.

It was stupid, and they both realized it. Even stupider was deciding to keep the 100 in the dark, and they were paying for their choices now.

Bellamy’s jaw was clenched tight, as he attempted to let the glares of his people bounce off him, keeping his attention on Clarke at his side, but he could _feel_ them, the hot stares of kids who trusted him, boring into his skin.

“Yes,” Clarke said, voice loud. The muttering slowed as the 100 leaned forward to hear. “Cage is alive. Others are too, but we don’t know how many.”

“Man, this is bullshit,” Miller muttered. He was sitting in the front, his feet propped on the table directly in front of him. His hat was pulled low, shielding his eyes from Bellamy’s view.

“You had no _right_ to keep this from us,” Raven snapped. It seemed she had nominated herself as spokesperson for the 100. They were staring up at her, nodding and adding quiet whispers of agreement. “ _Two_ months! You’ve both known about this for two months!”

“There wasn’t anything we could do,” Clarke started, hands rising on either side of her body like one of those old preachers from before Earth went to hell, but Bellamy thought she looked more like an avenging angel. 

“Bull _shit_ ,” Miller said again, snapping the word out like a whip and Clarke flinched faintly at Bellamy side.

Bellamy’s jaw clicked, teeth grinding together, and he threw a long look at Miller, who stared back, not cowed. 

“We could have been figuring out a way to stop them,” Raven continued. “ _All_ of us!”

Shouts of agreement rose up, and for a moment, Bellamy thought that they were about to lose control of the room. It had been a long while since the 100 hadn’t listened to him or Clarke, and the hot feeling of regret heaved in Bellamy’s stomach.

“Maybe we shouldn’t stop them,” Jasper suddenly called out, halting all conversations.

Bellamy’s breath hitched a little in his lungs as he found Jasper, sitting the thick of the 100, body sprawled on a chair as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Bellamy had failed Jasper, failed him so completely that Jasper would _never_ recover. There was nothing sparking in Jasper’s hollow eyes, and Bellamy didn’t know that he would ever see anything in them again.

“What?” Clarke asked him sharply. Her chin jutted out angrily and Bellamy sent her a warning look, but he was ignored.

“I said, maybe we should just let them kill us,” Jasper said, unfazed by Clarke’s dark look. He gestured vaguely. “Cage and his soldiers. Let them finish the job. It’s not like we’ve got anything left for us.”

“That’s so incredibly _selfish_ —” Clarke snapped, but Bellamy stopped her, grasping her bicep in a tight grip. She threw him a glare, but, unlike the 100’s accusing looks, hers bounced right off Bellamy with ease.

“We aren’t going to just roll over, Jasper,” Bellamy said, keeping his hand on Clarke, but angling his body to face the 100. “That’s not who we are.”

Jasper’s head cocked to the side, eyes raking Bellamy up and down. “You’re right, Bellamy. We’re much more the type of people who kill _everyone_ to survive. Kids. Women. Innocents—we don’t give a shit.” He let out a humorless laugh and then paused, eyes going hard. “Or rather, you and Clarke don’t give a shit.”

“Oh, fuck,” someone muttered in the silence that followed.

Frozen for only a brief second, Clarke twitched under Bellamy’s hand, starting to jerk towards Jasper.

But Bellamy was already moving. He quickly stepped behind Clarke, letting go of her arm, only to wrap both of his arms around her, pinning her to his chest. 

“Bellamy!” she snapped, struggling against his hold, but Bellamy didn’t let go.

His heart hit his ribcage painfully, and he could taste metal on his tongue. His knuckles were stinging with phantom pains, aching to hit Jasper in the face, but with Clarke pressed against him, he knew that he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t beat Jasper bloody for speaking up, and he wasn’t going to let Clarke do it either. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Jasper,” he bit out, breathe heaving out of his lungs. 

The top of Clarke’s head hit his chin as she jerked against him again and his teeth clacked together with a snap; he tightened his grip on her, and she stopped. 

Jasper grinned at him, enjoying their anger. He let it wash over him as he stretched his arms out over his body, lacing his fingers together and propping them behind his head. “Are you sure? I think I have a pretty good idea. I was with everyone in the mountain when they died, remember? I watched the air poison their bodies, and eat them from the inside out.”

“You wanna blame us for saving your life? Fine,” Clarke said, voice dropping low and cruel. “But that’s what we did. _We_ did that,” she gestured between herself and Bellamy behind her. “I guess we didn’t realize that maybe we should have just let you—,”

Bellamy squeezed Clarke tight, cutting her off. “Clarke, don’t.” His voice was quiet, only meant for her. He couldn’t see her expression, but she didn’t continue.

“Then you should blame me too,” Monty spoke up, voice quiet and laced with pain. He stood in the back of the room, leaning against the closed doors.

Jasper didn’t even spare him a glance, keeping his eyes on Bellamy and Clarke. “Oh, I do, buddy. I do.”

Bellamy watched as Monty flinched, as if Jasper had hit him across the face, and his anger boiled. “Shut up, Jasper,” he growled.

“Just calling it like I see it,” Jasper said, with a shrug.

“Let go of me, Bellamy,” Clarke hissed. She was vibrating against his chest, pent up rage coursing through her.

But Bellamy didn’t. If he let her go, than he was going to follow her, like he always did, and beat Jasper senseless.

“Maybe you and Clarke should go talk to Cage,” Jasper continued, eyes flicking from Clarke to Bellamy over her head. “Why should the rest of us suffer for what you two did?”

Bellamy swallowed hard, and his grip on Clarke loosened, but she wasn’t struggling anymore.

Jasper was just talking shit, but Bellamy couldn’t help but wonder if he was right. Maybe he should go to Mt. Weather and give himself up for the rest of the 100; his life for theirs.

But it wouldn’t work; Cage would never let this go so easily. He would want Clarke too, not just Bellamy alone, and Bellamy would never let that happen.

“Don’t be stupid, Jasper,” Raven finally said, twisting around to glare at him. “Cage would kill us all, regardless if he kills Bellamy and Clarke.” Her words were flippant, but they were laced with trickles of alarm.

“It was just a suggestion,” Jasper said easily.

“Well, keep it to yourself,” Raven shot back.

.

.

In the end, they didn’t come to any sort of agreement. No one was quite over the fact that Clarke and Bellamy had lied to them about Mt. Weather, and not knowing what Cage’s endgame was made it hard for Clarke to figure how to fight him.

Her head hurt, pain from her tense neck radiated up into her skull, making it feel heavy. She supposed it would help if she slept more, like Abby wanted her to, but she couldn’t sleep.

It was easier for the ghosts of everyone she had killed to slip into her mind at night, when it was dark and quiet. So she just didn’t sleep.

She had told everyone to get something to eat and then head to bed, but she hadn’t followed her own instructions.

Outside, it was cold, but the stars were bright overhead and Clarke liked the taste of the clean air on her tongue. Despite everything, she was still amazed that they had made it to Earth, that they had survived the journey and continuous fights.

She was sitting on top a makeshift guard tower that Bellamy had insisted they needed. Abby hadn’t really listened, but that hadn’t deterred Bellamy and he built it anyway, with the help of the 100.

Sometimes, Clarke wondered if it would be better for everyone if she gathered the 100, and they all left. The Arkadians wouldn’t have to deal with the angry child criminals anymore, and instead they could get on with their lives, while the 100 went back to how it was during the dropship days.

She had to remind herself that there shouldn’t be a line between the Arkadians and the 100 anymore. Now, they were all one people.

But it didn’t feel like that. It felt like she was still leading _her_ people with Bellamy, while Abby and Kane tried to force them to conform to how it had been in space. It felt like she was fighting for any scrap of respect here when she had already earned the respect of the 100.

There was a tone of voice that Bellamy used when talking to the adults, despite being one himself. It was two parts mocking and one part patient, as if he was dealing with a young child. He had mentioned to her in passing that none of the Arkadians knew what it was like on the ground, and they never would _really_ know.

He was right in a way. What the 100 experienced in those early days had changed them all. They weren’t kids anymore; they had too much blood on their hands from being forced to grow up too quickly.

Generally, Clarke wouldn’t care how Bellamy talked to the authority figures inside the fence; he was more than capable of getting himself out of the brig if Abby decided he was being too insolent, but the rest of the 100 had started to adopt his tone, and it was beginning to border on blatant disrespect, and now she found herself starting to speak to her mother with the same tone of voice.

Honestly, it was the least of her worries, but Clarke couldn’t stop thinking about _how_ they were going to continue to live with the Arkadains if they couldn’t stop thinking with an _us vs them_ mentality.

“Clarke?” Bellamy’s voice floated up to where she was sitting and a moment later the top of his head appeared as he climbed up the ladder.

She shifted to make space for him as he pulled himself through the hatch and onto the wooden floor.

He arranged himself into a sitting position next to Clarke, close enough for his arms to brush hers every time he breathed. She could feel his body heat and shivered in response. She wanted to move closer, to wrap her arms around him to help keep the chill away, but resisted the urge.

“You took my hiding place,” Bellamy said after a moment.

Clarke gave him a sidelong look, but he was staring through the opening of the tower into the night sky.

“I didn’t know you’d claimed it,” she said.

“I made it, didn’t I?”

She could see a smile curling at the edge of his mouth, and for a moment she allowed herself to stop thinking about the impending war and instead about the boy at her side that had become one of her closest friends. 

“You never learned to share very well, huh?” she said with a smile of her own.

Bellamy shrugged. “I learned. Octavia usually wanted everything that I had.”

The smile slipped off Clarke’s face; she forgot that Bellamy had been protecting someone his whole life, that this, trying to protect the 100, wasn’t new to him.

“But I wasn’t very good at it,” Bellamy continued, voice light. “There were some things that were just for me. I hide those under my bed.” He paused. “But I’m pretty sure that O found them anyway.”

How could she not? Octavia grew up in that tiny room and probably knew every inch of it, including all of Bellamy’s hiding spots.

“I’m sorry,” Bellamy offered after a beat. “I came up here to cheer you up.”

“You’re not doing a very good job,” Clarke said, not denying that she needed it.

“It could be worse. Jasper could have come up.” His mouth curled and he glared off into the distance at the dark tops of the trees that surrounded them.

“Jasper,” Clarke muttered, pulling her knees up to her chest while Bellamy nodded in agreement.

They were quiet for a moment, and then Clarke added softly, “But…he’s not completely wrong.”

Bellamy didn’t say anything, and when Clarke looked over at him, his face was blank and she wondered if he had heard her, but then a shudder rippled down his body and his eyes sharpened as he stared back at her.

“Yeah,” he said, just as softly, “I know.”

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to everyone who left a comment/kudos! I'm excited to be writing for this fandom, and y'all are making me feel very welcome. 
> 
> Some continued notes about this fic: 
> 
> I'm flying by the seat of my pants a little. There are plot points that I know I want to have happen, but I'm not completely sure how I'm getting there. I'm just hoping that it's all going to make sense by the end. 
> 
> There's this short fic by opensummer called rule one (idk how to make it a link) that I love, which is literally about Abby not understanding Bellamy and Clarke's relationship or who the 100 are now, and I just love it and wanted to incorporate that idea into my fic if I could, which is why I'm making Abby and Kane and the adults a bit unlikable.  
> I just love the idea of having such a clear line between the Arkadians and the 100, and I want to explore as much as possible.


	3. tell me we're okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning for this chapter. There's a character death in here (towards the end of the chapter), and the death isn't shown, but is pretty gruesome.

[3] 

“It’s like you didn’t learn anything from last time,” Raven grumbled at Bellamy as she threw a clip of bullets at him.

He caught it in the air, the hard metal stinging against his palm, and shoved it into his backpack, but didn’t disagree. It had been a few days since Clarke had found out about his trips outside the fence, and since they decided that Cage needed to be taken care of.

 _Killed_ , Bellamy supplied helpfully, staring hard at the Raven’s work table. Cage needed to be _killed_.

They hadn’t come to any sort of decision, even with the rest of the 100 helping with planning, like Raven had wanted, and Bellamy was sick of waiting, of hovering in the background, while the rest of them fought and argued over what to do. It was time for action and he was going to be the one to take the first step, the first risk. He wouldn’t ask anyone to follow him; the danger would rest solely on his shoulders.

“Clarke is going to kill you when she finds out,” Raven added, giving him a sidelong look as she added more supplies to his bag.

“I’ll be back before she finds out,” Bellamy said.

“Liar,” Raven shot back. “This is stupid.”

“I’m not doing anything crazy,” Bellamy said, “I’m just going on a little scouting mission. I need to see what Cage is up to.”

Raven shot him an exasperated look.

“I promise,” Bellamy insisted, tightening the straps on his backpack. “That’s all I’m doing.”

“Sure.” Raven paused. “What are you going to do when you remember that you won’t be able to _see_ what he's up to? Do you remember the part of them living in a _mountain_? It’s not that easy to do a scouting mission when you can’t see jack shit.”

Bellamy had thought about that, and he still wasn’t going to do something stupid like try and go inside the mountain. It had barely worked last time, and it wouldn’t work a second time, not when Cage knew their tricks and, besides, the mountain didn’t have the same system anymore.

“You should take someone with you,” Raven added.

Bellamy paused, hands going still on his bag. He threw her a long look. “Are you volunteering?”

“Hell no.” Raven grinned, but then turned serious again. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

Bellamy shrugged. “I’ve been alone out there before.”

“Yeah, and you’ve almost died alone out there too.”

Bellamy bit back the words that gurgled up his throat, that at least it would only be him dying and no one else. Instead, he nodded at her. “Yeah. But I’m not taking anyone else, okay?”

He could feel Raven’s gaze lingering on him, but he resolutely ignored her, finishing with his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He reached forward and took his rifle off the table; he had thoroughly cleaned it the night before, making sure it was ready, in case he ran into any problems.

“Okay,” Raven finally said, and reached out to touch Bellamy’s arm. He glanced down at it; Raven wasn’t really the type to offer comfort, physical or other. “Just be careful.”

Bellamy flashed her a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course.”

.

.

“Hey, Lincoln,” Clarke said, snagging the man’s arm as he attempted to pass her. “Have you seen Bellamy?”

They were outside, near the garden, and the sun was bright, but Clarke didn’t think it was a trick of the light when Lincoln’s face darkened with regret before smoothing out again. She knew there was unsaid words between him and Bellamy since the mountain, but it wasn’t her business and Bellamy hadn’t confided in her about it.

“I don’t know where he is,” Lincoln finally said, head swiveling around as if he would be able to find Bellamy when Clarke hadn’t. “Maybe Octavia knows.”

Clarke was already shaking her head. “I asked. No one seems to know where he is.”

Unbidden, they both looked to the forest that waited outside the fence, staring at the darkness within the trees that seemed to mock Clarke.

“Shit,” Clarke grounded out.

“He went out again?” Lincoln asked.

“And he didn’t tell me,” Clarke said, staring out into the woods. Hurt coursed through her; she thought they had gotten past this. Hell, they had a fucking _screaming_ match over it for everyone to see.

“He’s…” Lincoln started, but stopped just as quickly.

Clarke twisted around to face him again. “He’s what?”

Lincoln shrugged and adverted his eyes. “He’s suffering.”

Clarke let out a humorless laugh. “So am I. So are you—so is everyone else!”

Lincoln nodded, and stayed quiet.

“What?” Clarke snapped, annoyed that he seemed to know something she didn’t about Bellamy.

Lincoln chewed on his tongue for a long beat before he said,“Bellamy feels things deeply. More than I would have thought for someone like him. He can’t just forget about what Cage did to him, to all of you.”

“And I can?” Clarke said, anger beginning to rise, fast and hot.

Lincoln shook his head. “That’s not what I’m saying. I just think that he blames himself for the mountain, and is going to make sure that no one else gets hurt or killed.”

“What about me?” Clarke demanded, not sure why she was so upset with Lincoln. “I was there with him in the mountain at the end. He was following _my_ orders! He should blame me more than himself.”

“But he doesn’t want you to die.”

Clarke’s eyebrows drew low. “What does that have to do with blaming me?”

“He’d rather die himself than you,” Lincoln said quietly, looking uncomfortable.

“How do you know?” Clarke asked sharply. Lincoln hardly knew Bellamy, and their relationship wasn't exactly steady or even existent; who was he to be making these definite statements?

“It’s in his eyes,” Lincoln said, still calm in the face of Clarke’s anger. “Just like it’s in yours. He would rather die than have more of his people killed." Lincoln paused, and then added, "It’s the burden of being a leader with too much heart.”

Clarke stared at him, but Lincoln was finished and he gently nodded at her before turning and leaving her alone. She wasn’t given much of a chance to mull over what he had just told her because a long moment later, Raven appeared at her elbow. The other girl’s hair was frizzy and out of place, and Raven had a particularly aggravated look on her face.

“What, Raven?” Clarke snapped, swiping a hand across her eyes.

“No need to get pissy,” Raven said, raising both her hands in surrender. “I’m just wondering if you’ve seen—”

“Bellamy?” Clarke shook her head. “No. I’ve been looking for him too.”

“No, not him,” Raven said. “Jasper. I can’t find him. Monty’s been looking for him and was getting worried; he asked me to help look.”

With her stomach sinking rapidly, Clarke shook her head again. “I haven’t seen him…” she trailed off, head swiveling to look out to the trees again.

“Why would he go out with Bellamy?” Raven asked, following Clarke’s gaze. “He doesn’t seem like he’s your or Bellamy’s biggest fan right now.”

“He’s not,” Clarke said, and then shot a look at Raven. “When I get back, you and I are going to have a long talk about you helping Bellamy leave without telling me.”

Raven blinked back at her, but didn’t deny the accusation.

Clarke felt a flash of annoyance, but turned on her heel, heading back to the Ark. “I’m heading out in ten. Tell Monty and Miller to meet me in your work room.”

“What are you going to do?” Raven called after her.

“I’m going to find him,” Clarke shouted, louder than she needed, “and drag his ass home.”

.

.

The hairs on the back of Bellamy’s neck were standing straight up, and he had his rifle raised and pressed to his shoulder. There was no one visible in the dark woods, but he felt eyes on him, prying under his skin and watching his every move.

Murphy’s words of Grounders lining up around the fence kept echoing in his head, and he knew that just because he couldn’t see them didn’t mean they weren’t out there.

He was only about halfway to Mt. Weather, and Bellamy still hadn’t really come up with a better plan other than finding a good place to hunker down and watch the mountain until Cage made a move. He felt particularly useless and stupid, almost sluggish, and wondered what was wrong with him. This was supposed to be his element; he thrived in situations like this. Didn’t he?

A branch snapped behind him, and Bellamy whirled around, breath heaving out of his lungs with force, as his eyes flicked wildly around, trying to see behind the trees and foliage. He could see the edge of an arm sticking out behind the trunk of a large oak, and Bellamy inched closer, eyes unblinking as he stared down the barrel of his rifle.

“I see you,” he called out harshly. “You might as well come out. Save your arm from a bullet hole.” 

The arm shifted, disappearing behind the tree, and then a voice said, “I should have known that you shoot first, check faces later.”

Bellamy frowned, tipping the nose of his rifle down a little. “Jasper?”

“The one and only.” Jasper slid out from behind the tree, his back pressed against it. He waved at Bellamy, a wide grin painted on his mouth.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Bellamy snapped. He lowered his rifle. “I could have shot you.” Adrenaline oozed its way out of his system, making his hands shake at the close call.

“I know.”

Bellamy glared at him. “I forgot—you have a death wish.”

Jasper shrugged and pushed off from the tree, making his way to Bellamy. “So what are you doing out here? Clarke is gonna kill you.”

Bellamy wiped a hand down his face, wiping the beaded sweat away. “I’m aware.”

“But is this worth her wrath? What exactly is _this_?” Jasper craned his neck, trying to look over Bellamy’s shoulder, as if Bellamy was hiding his true purpose behind him.

Bellamy didn’t have an answer. His mouth pinched and he shoved Jasper’s shoulder with his free hand, pointing him back the way they had come. “Go home.”

Jasper stumbled and his arms flailed as he tried to keep his balance, but didn’t start walking. “No thanks.” He paused, and then added, “It’s not home, by the way.”

Bellamy stilled, eyeing the other boy. “No,” he said shortly. “It’s not. But it’s the best we’ve got right now.”

Jasper blinked slowly at him. “Don’t you wish we could go back to the Dropship?” He didn’t wait for an answer, continuing, “I do. All the time.”

“You want to go back to the place where we were scared every day? Where we were hungry all the time? Where so many of us were killed?” Bellamy asked, even as he silently agreed with Jasper.

“At least it was just us,” Jasper said, sounding almost like his old self, “the 100. We all knew who we were and where we stood with each other.”

Bellamy didn’t want to admit that he _ached_ for that time because he knew that he was yearning for it with rose colored glasses; it had been a terrible time in their lives, but after everything that had happened since, it had been simpler and better in so many ways.

“I don’t have time for this,” he finally said, voice gruff. “Go home. Tell Clarke I’ll be back.” He didn’t wait for Jasper to agree, turning on his heel and showing his back to the other boy.

For a brief moment, he thought that Jasper had actually listened to him, but then another stick cracked underfoot, and he stopped again, head bowing and hands tightening around his rifle's grip. 

“I’m bored,” Jasper said to Bellamy’s back. “I’m gonna hang with you.”

Bellamy breathed heavily through his nose, teeth grinding together. He debated trying to force Jasper to leave, or trying to wrestle Jasper into submission and dragging him back to camp, but he quickly dismissed both those ideas; he was finishing this trip, and if that meant Jasper was coming with, then so be it.

Bellamy started walking again, eyes pinned on the nonexistent path in front of him, determinedly trying to ignore Jasper, who was keeping in step at Bellamy’s elbow.

They walked in silence for a long moment before it was broken again.

“What was that?” Jasper asked, mocking laugh in his voice. He cocked his head, cupping a hand around his ear while he tried to catch Bellamy’s eyes. “Did you say something?”

Bellamy chewed on his tongue, refusing to look directly at Jasper.

“Come on,” Jasper said. “Come ooooon, just tell me.”

“ _F_ _uck off_ ,” Bellamy snapped, jerking his head around to glare at Jasper, who only laughed in his face. 

“I could, but this is more fun than I’ve had in months!”

“Can’t say the same,” Bellamy muttered, head dipping low, and thankfully, Jasper fell silent again. 

They kept walking, trudging through the trees that eventually gave way to grassy hills and fields; they were nearing the mountain and Bellamy’s shoulders grew tighter with each passing step. He was hyperaware of Jasper at his side, and he couldn’t stop thinking about what could happen if they ran into trouble.

“What are you going to do when we get there?” Jasper asked, voice rough after being quiet for so long. 

Bellamy flinched at the sudden noise after the muffled silence of the woods and the birdsong in the fields. He gave Jasper a sidelong look, hefting the rifle strap higher onto his shoulder. “This is a scouting mission. I’m only going to observe.”

Jasper snorted. “In other words, you’ve got no idea. You got tired of sitting on your ass, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“Why didn’t you tell Clarke you were going out again?” Jasper said, clearly not taking Bellamy’s words to heart.

Bellamy heaved out a sigh and raked a hand through his hair, tugging at the knots in it. “She doesn’t need…it’s a risk she doesn’t want to take,” Bellamy said, tripping clumsily over his explanation.

Jasper let out a laugh. “That’s not true. Clarke will sacrifice every piece on the board to get what she wants.”

A flare of irritation sparked across Bellamy’s skin, and he gave Jasper a long look. “Clarke doesn’t want people to die. She never has.”

“But it doesn’t stop her, does it?”

“She saved us all,” Bellamy snapped, voice rising, “ _She_ did that! With practically no help from anyone—”

“Aw, don’t downplay your part in the genocide of Mt. Weather,” Jasper cut in, and Bellamy froze, boots seemingly stuck to the earth as he slowly turned to face the other boy.

Jasper had stopped too, eyeing Bellamy, anticipation gleaming in his eyes. “Are you going to hit me, Bellamy?”

Bellamy bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, blood filling his mouth a second later.

“Don’t you remember your promise during the Dropship days?” Jasper continued, voice lowering and eyes going hard. “You wanted to finish me off when I got that fucking spear shoved through my chest. Why don’t you just do what you threatened? _Do it_!”

The red film of rage that had covered Bellamy’s eyes lessened and then disappeared, and he loosened his tight fists.

“Yeah,” he said, and watched as surprise flitted across Jasper’s face at his level tone. “Yeah, I wanted to kill you. Because I was stupid and thought I knew what was best for the camp…but you know who stopped me?”

Understanding flooded Jasper’s body and his mouth curled. He threw up a hand in disgust, flapping it at Bellamy to make him stop talking.

“Clarke,” Bellamy said, taking a step towards Jasper. “She stopped me from killing you. She saved you—just like she continues to save all of us.”

“It wasn’t the same,” Jasper tried to say, but he had talked himself into a corner, and they both knew it.

“Whatever, Jasper,” Bellamy said, turning back towards the mountain. It loomed ominously in the distance, dark against the blue sky. “But you’re going to need to accept the fact that you’re alive and it’s because of Clarke.”

Jasper muttered something at Bellamy’s back, but it was lost in the sudden snap of gunfire.

Dirt kicked up in front of Bellamy, even as he jerked backwards, twisting around to tackle Jasper to the ground.

Jasper let out an _oof_ as Bellamy crushed the wind from him, but Bellamy didn’t roll off him; he stayed on top of Jasper, crushing him to the ground with his full weight.

Bullets spat into the ground around them, but the high grass kept their exact position hidden from the shooters, wherever they were. 

Bellamy’s rifle was digging into him, hard and sharp even through the backpack, but he couldn’t grab it without getting off Jasper, and fear of a stray bullet biting into Jasper surged through him, and for a moment too long, Bellamy didn’t know what to do.

He was frozen with indecision as he stared down at Jasper, too close to his face. He was going to get Jasper killed. The certainty of it flowed through him, and Bellamy felt the air in his chest halt, and his mouth gasped for breath.

Jasper was shouting in his face, eyes wild, and his hands were shoving and clawing at Bellamy’s shoulders, but he had no chance of pushing him off.

“What?” Bellamy finally yelled, and the sound seemed to snap back into place, like his ears had popped and he could hear again.

“I said, shoot back, you idiot!” Jasper screamed. “You’ve got a gun, use it!”

Bellamy stayed for a moment longer, not wanting to leave Jasper exposed, but there wasn’t any other choice. 

With a curse, he rolled, flattening the grass to Jasper’s left, and curled in on himself as a spray of bullets focused on his area.

When they paused to reload, he pressed himself flat to the ground, rifle stiff against his shoulder as he looked down the barrel, trying to see where the shooting was coming from, but he knew the Mountain Men had camouflage and were probably positioned in areas with good cover, more than he had, and it was unlikely that he was going to be able to spot them.

“I can’t see shit!” he snapped out to Jasper, sweat dripping down his forehead, making his eyes sting. “I don’t know where they are!” Panic was bubbling just beneath the surface, but panic had no place in a battle and Bellamy refused to let it out.

“Oh,” Jasper said behind him, his voice odd and strangled, “but I do.”

Bellamy started to ask what he meant, when there was the unmistakable sensation of a barrel jabbed into the back of his neck, cold and unforgiving. 

“Get up,” the voice was hard. “Drop the gun, and get to your knees. Slowly!”

Bellamy carefully unclenched his hands from the rifle, and pushed his upper body up. His knees dug into the dirt as he started to raise his hands above his head. His mind was swirling possibilities of escape. He had a pistol on his hip and a knife in his boot, but it felt laughable compared to what was most certainly surrounding him.

“Now get to your feet,” the voice continued.

Bellamy silently started to straighten, but the gun against his neck jabbed again, harder than before.

“Take that pistol out of your belt and drop it! Don’t think I didn’t see that!” The voice was harsh and lined with fury, and a second later his backpack was ripped off his shoulders, wrenching them back painfully. "The knife too!" 

Bellamy’s breath whistled out of his nose as he tried to control his breathing, but he did as they asked; the bastards had Jasper.

The pistol landed near his rifle, quickly followed by his knife, and he was finally allowed to stand and turn to face them. His heart thumped against his chest as he realized that none of them were wearing suits and masks; they were breathing the outside air with ease.

Jasper was pressed against the chest of one of the soldiers. Bellamy didn’t recognize any of them, but that wasn’t surprising; he hadn’t spent his time in the mountain having dinner and enjoying the clean beds, like Jasper and the others had for a short while.

But from the looks on their faces, they recognized him.

“Bellamy Blake,” the one with the gun in his face sneered. “Cage said you’d be coming.”

Bellamy didn’t bother asking how they knew his name. “Yeah?” he snarled back, forcing strength into his words. “Well, here I am.”

They exchanged looks with each other, unimpressed with his bravado.

“Brave words, kid, but you have no idea the hell Cage has planned for you.”

Surprisingly, Bellamy didn’t care what Cage was going to do to him, and it wasn’t fear that was wrapping around his throat—it was anger.

“Let him,” Bellamy snapped. The skin around his knuckles were taut and white, and he wished that he hadn’t been so stupid, so unaware, of the soldiers as they surrounded them.

It crossed his mind that maybe he should try to make a play for the gun that was too close to his face. He could wrestle it away and shoot the bastard, and then he would be on even ground with the soldiers once again, but then Bellamy’s eyes landed on Jasper, and he remembered that he wasn’t the only one that was going to suffer for his mistake and brave words.

“Jasper…” he mumbled, fight draining from him. “I’m sorry.”

Jasper was almost relaxed against the soldier, despite the knife to his throat, and he shrugged back at Bellamy. “It’s okay. See you on the other side.”

Bellamy didn’t know what that meant, but then the soldier with the gun jerked forward and smashed it against the side of Bellamy’s head and stars sparked in his vision.

He doubled over, but didn’t go down.

“Damn, he’s stronger than he looks.” The voice sounded like it was coming from under water, and Bellamy blinked rapidly, trying to focus, but a second blow hit him and this time he couldn’t hold onto consciousness.

.

.

Unease was swirling in Clarke’s gut, but it was almost overwhelmed by burning anger that was bubbling through her. It was an anger that never seemed far from the surface these days. Sometimes, she wondered who she was going to see when she looked at the dusty mirrors in the Ark. Would she even recognize the face staring back? Or would it be someone so consumed with regret and fury?

“Monty?” Clarke said, shoving those thoughts away. “Are you ready?” Her voice was harsher than she meant, and she winced internally.

Monty looked up from his bag, a wounded look spreading across his face. “Almost.”

Clarke knew she should apologize, but Bellamy and Jasper had been gone for hours already. The thought that they could already be at Mt. Weather, buzzed through Clarke’s skull, overriding almost everything else, including her guilt for snapping at her friend.

They were in Raven’s workspace. It was private and all the Arkadians knew not to go in there; Raven had yelled at them one too many times. It had become a sort of sanctuary for most of the 100, and there was at least one or two of them hanging around inside while Raven worked. 

The walls were lined with shelves that were full to bursting with odd bits of metal and wires, and whatever else Raven had stolen from around the camp. Her work table was in the middle of the room, and Monty, Miller, and Clarke were standing around it, getting their bags ready for a trip outside.

Clarke’s bag was already finished; it had taken her less than five minutes to gather everything she needed, while it seemed to be taking Monty and Miller much longer than necessary.

Her legs and arms were tense, waiting for the moment to leave, but Clarke knew that staring at the other two wouldn’t make them move faster.

Instead, she looked down at the black, heavy pistol clutched in her hands. Her fingers were white and bloodless from how tight she was gripping it. It didn’t really make her feel better or more prepared, but it would be stupid to go out beyond the fence without a weapon, and she could practically hear Bellamy in her ear, telling her to _take the damn gun because she wasn’t an idiot, was she?_ Her bag was already on her back, solid with the packets of food and medical supplies she had shoved in there. She wondered if she should just go, let Monty and Miller catch up when they finally finished.

Her foot starting tapping out a beat against the floor, and her hands began to throb from gripping the pistol too tight. 

“Take it easy, Clarke,” Miller said, eyeing her from where he was packing his bag for the short hike. “They’ll be fine. It’s Bellamy.”

“That’s not comforting,” Clarke muttered. But Miller had a point. Bellamy had been surviving on the ground for months now; he knew what he was doing, even if he was being a complete moron right now.

A part of her wondered if this mess was her fault. Bellamy needed action, something to point his gun at, and the seemingly endless debates that had been filling the 100’s meeting place for the last few days had been putting him on edge. She had seen it flashing in his dark eyes and the way he set his jaw, but when he had tried to talk to her, she had dismissed him, saying that they needed to wait, be smart about this, not go out half-cocked.

The other part of her knew that Bellamy was a grown ass man, who made his own choices, and he decided to take the mission into his own hands and put Jasper at risk by going outside the fence.

A shout echoed through the workspace, startling Clarke, and the gun shook in her hand. She took a short breath and then with practiced ease, she slid the pistol into the holster on her belt and turned her attention to Harper, who had just burst through the doors, eyes wide and long hair wild.

“What?” Clarke demanded, circling around Monty and Miller. A sinking feel was sliding down her throat, making it thick and hard to get enough air. “What now? Are they back?”

Harper’s chest was heaving, as if she had run the whole way to Raven’s workplace, and she shook her head. “No. There’s something outside the gate.”

Clarke started running, brushing past Harper without waiting for any of them to follow her. The pack on her back thumped against her spine with each step, but she hardly noticed; her mind was racing as she tried to come up with an explanation for what could possibly be the problem now.

Harper had said something was outside, but it was more likely _someone_ , and it was a tossup between Grounders or Cage’s men. Either way, it wasn’t good.

As Clarke’s legs pumped and she shoved unsuspecting Arkadians out of the way, she wished that Bellamy was with her, running by her side. Leading was something that the two of them were good at, but leading _together_ was something they excelled at.

“Fucking Bellamy,” Clarke muttered under her breath. He had chosen a hell of a time to start acting like his old self from the Dropship days.

There was no sunlight to blind Clarke outside. Clouds were rapidly covering the sun, hinting at a coming storm, which was just what Clarke needed; another problem for when she went into the forest to chase Bellamy down.

Raven was waiting for her at the foot of Bellamy’s tower, her face fixed into a worried frown.

“Who is it?” Clarke demanded before she even came to a stop.

“We’re not sure. They’re just at the edge of the trees and we can’t make out who they are.”

A large crowd had gathered, like sharks to bloody water, but Clarke didn’t have time to reassure them, and anyway, that was Abby’s job.

She pushed past Raven and started climbing up the tower, unsurprised to find Kane already up there with Miller’s dad.

“Clarke,” Kane greeted as she pulled herself up to stand next to him.

The wall of the tower was high, up to Clarke’s chin, and offered them protect against an potential attack, but Clarke knew better than to assume it would protect them from more than a few rounds of bullets.

“Who is it?” she asked again, eyes flicking from tree to tree, trying to catch a glimpse of who was lurking out there, but she couldn’t see anyone.

“We don’t know,” Kane said quietly. “But we saw them—they made _sure_ we saw them. I think they’re waiting for something.”

“For me,” Clarke said, hands trembling, just a little, at her sides. “They’re waiting for me.”

Kane didn’t argue, and Clarke was thankful for that. He was one of the few adults that seemed to realize that Clarke and the 100 knew what they were talking about when it came to the ground. 

She shifted and then hooked her foot into a knot in the wood of the wall, using it to prop herself up higher so that she was visible. Her blonde hair was a dead giveaway and anyone out there would know it was her. 

It only took a moment before there was movement at the wood line, and a group of soldiers inched their way out, faces smeared with dark swirls of paint. They were dressed in fatigues and all held rifles with an easy proficiency. 

“Mountain Men,” Clarke said. None of them were wearing masks or suits, and Clarke wondered if they had been cured from their weakness before the 100 escaped the mountain, if Fox or Harper or any of the others had been the ones to save their lives with the bone marrow that had been forcibly taken. 

She had expected her heart to be thumping and her hands to be slick with sweat; she expected to be afraid of what they wanted now that they were finally making an appearance, but all she felt was calm. Now that it was happening, she could breathe again and start figuring out how to protect her people.

“What do they want?” Kane said at her side.

“I don’t know,” Clarke said, eyes pinned on the approaching figures, “but get some guns on them.”

She waited for Kane to argue with her, but he didn’t and a beat later, he was making his way down the tower with Miller's dad to get some of his people on the fence.

Clarke threw a quick glance down the fence line. They had finished building it up almost a month ago, and it wasn’t just a simple electrified mesh anymore. Now, the wire fence was only the outside layer; they had built a second, inner wall made from solid wood and spare metal from the Ark. It would hold against most attacks, and Clarke knew she had Bellamy to thank for insisting they get it done when Abby wanted to turn their energy onto other projects in the camp.

“That’s far enough,” Clarke called out, stopping the group a good distance from the gate. She didn’t want them too close, and from this distance, Kane’s men could put them down if they made a sudden charge. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re here to give you a message,” one of the soldiers yelled. Clarke recognized him from the mountain, but she couldn’t remember his name. There was a faint smile on his lips; the sight of it made Clarke’s stomach clench. Her hand found the pistol at her hip, the cold metal a small comfort.

“Alright,” she said. “Then give it to me.”

“It would be easier if you came out—”

Clarke let out a laugh, cutting the soldier off. “That’s not going to happen. Tell me what you came to say and then leave.”

The soldier shrugged, and he twisted his body, reaching behind him towards one of his people, who handed him something. When he straightened he was holding a small burlap bag in one hand, fingers curled into the material.

“It’s more of a visual message, but I’m sure you’ll see it just fine from up there.” He smirked at her.

Clarke squinted at the bag, trying to get a better look at it. For a moment, she had no idea what the hell the soldier had or why Cage had ordered them to give her a bag, but then she saw the soaked bottom of the burlap and the way it dripped to the trampled grass. Her mouth opened in horror, and she couldn’t hear anything except the heavy beat of her heart.

_Bellamy._

They had found and killed Bellamy and put…some part of him in the bag to taunt her, to remind her just what they were capable of, that they were monsters.

Clarke snapped her mouth shut, teeth grinding together. She could be a monster too, and she would be, for Bellamy.

“Show me,” she demanded, hardly recognizing her own voice.

The soldier unwound the top of the bag and tipped it, spilling its contents out onto the ground.

The object rolled, and Clarke watched it steadily, waiting for it to stop so she could look at what was left of Bellamy.

It hit a rock and stopped.

For a beat, time seemed to stop, and then there was a scream, loud and piercing against Clarke’s ears, but it wasn’t her.

And the decapitated head staring up at her wasn’t Bellamy’s.

The screaming wasn’t stopping, and Clarke couldn’t think over the sound of it, or the hum of relief that rippled through her. It wasn’t Bellamy. He was still alive, still alive, stillalivestillalive.

Then guilt at her relief choked her and she gagged, pressing her body into the wall of the tower, the hard wood poking into her. 

“You fucking—,” she tried and gagged again.

Jasper’s dead eyes were staring at her, accusing her, blaming her, for the relief she felt, for letting him die, for everything.

“The message is this,” the soldier called. He and his men were making a rapid retreat. “Cage has your man. You have three days to give yourself up, otherwise, he'll kill your people, and Bellamy Blake will be a dead man…just like this one.” He jerked his chin at Jasper. 

The soldiers were almost at the trees, and Clarke didn’t even realize that she was holding her pistol until she fired off a round. It hit the ground at their feet, startling the soldiers, and that was all the encouragement Kane’s men needed and abruptly the air was ringing with the sound of bullets and cracking wood as shots went wide and entered the trunks of trees. 

The rifles had better range than Clarke’s pistol and she saw one or two of the soldiers go down, but it wasn’t _enough_. Not for what they had done. 

She squeezed the trigger of her gun again and again, but it was useless.

Jasper was still dead, and Bellamy was still gone.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. panic on the brain

[4]

It was dark when Bellamy woke up, and he was alone.

His cheek was pressing against the wet, cold floor, and he shivered with his whole body. His head was throbbing and when he managed to shift his hand up to touch the back of his head, it was sticky with drying blood. He didn’t know how long he had been unconscious, but it must have been bleeding for a long while; he was practically swimming in a pool of blood. He likely had a concussion, but there was nothing that Bellamy could do about that in his current state. 

He tried not to move, unsure of exactly where he was, and began to take stock of his condition.

Other than his head, he couldn’t feel any other injuries, which was a good sign, but a _bad_ sign was his lack of clothes. He had been stripped of everything except for his underwear, and it was a stark reminder of the last time he had been in the belly of the mountain.

Carefully, Bellamy pushed himself up from the ground, groaning as his head swam with the movement. He stayed sitting, shifting so that his back was to the wall. It was wet and ice cold, but he didn’t move again, already exhausted from the small effort.

His eyes flicked around, but there wasn’t much to see; he had been thrown into a small, prison-like room with a solid metal door that only had a tiny window and slot for food to be pushed in.

There was a soft buzzing sound, loud in the room, and Bellamy jerked, head whipping around, looking for the threat.

Immediate pain assaulted his skull, sharp and sudden.

He groaned again, squeezing his eyes shut and dipping his head into his waiting hands. He clutched his aching head for a moment, waiting for the pain to pass, but it didn’t; it only lessened enough for him to look up again to try and locate the source of the noise.

It took him a few tries to find it, but Bellamy blamed that on his concussion and fuzzy eyes.

In the corner of the room, there was a mounted camera with a little red light pointed directly at him. It was too high for Bellamy to hit and disable, and he wouldn’t be able to do any jumping until his head felt better. Until then, he would have to sit in the dark cell with the knowledge that someone, probably Cage, was watching him from the other side of the camera.

Bellamy didn’t know how long he sat in the room, alone and shivering. His thoughts were thick and unwieldly, and he couldn’t think of much more other than where Jasper was or how he was going to get out. Neither question had a good answer.

After what seemed like hours, or maybe days, there was a heavy click at the door, which swung open a second later.

Bellamy blinked against the artificial light that streamed in. He raised his hand against it, but it didn’t stop his eyes from welling up with tears.

There was a shuffling sound at the door and someone stepped inside, stopping at Bellamy’s bare feet. He curled them in anticipation for what was coming.

“Bellamy Blake.”

Bellamy winced at the sound and let his hand drop down to his side, squinting up at the figure standing over him.

He had never personally been introduced to Cage, but he had come face to face with the man when he had been sent to infiltrate the mountain. It had been terrifying at the time, not knowing what Cage was looking for or what he would do if Cage decided he wanted him to be one of his Reapers.

Now, Bellamy was still terrified, but it was a muted sort of fear; almost like he couldn’t quite muster the energy to fully understand that his life was in Cage’s hands.

“You and I never had a chance to properly meet last time,” Cage said. His lips twisted, eyes going dark. He abruptly crouched down, so that he and Bellamy were eye level. He raked critical eyes over Bellamy’s bare body, pausing every now and then; what he was looking for Bellamy didn’t know, but he tried not to squirm in disgust at the attention.

“You’re strong,” Cage said mildly as he reached forward to grip Bellamy’s bicep in his hand. “Not as strong as my Reapers were, but strong enough for my purposes.”

Bellamy jerked his arm out of Cage’s grasp, baring his teeth. The movement caused his head to scream in protest, but Bellamy pushed through the fuzzy spots dancing across vision, knowing better than to show weakness in front of the Mountain Men. 

Weakness meant death, especially on the ground.

Cage laughed, but let Bellamy pull away. He wiped his hand on his pant leg, as if Bellamy was some dirty creature. “You’re almost as bad as the Grounders. They’re animals, you know.”

Bellamy stared at him, waiting for him to get to the point of his visit.

Cage sank back on his haunches. He stroked a hand across his mouth, fingers tapping a beat on his upper lip. “Clarke killed my father.”

Bellamy knew this. They’d both killed a lot of people since coming down, but he was sure that Cage’s body count was just as high, if not higher.

“I loved my father, even if we didn’t always agree. I loved my people too. I just wanted to give them the ground, just like your leaders when they sent you down here from space.” He paused. “But now, I don’t have people anymore. Just a few of my loyal soldiers. That’s all _I_ have.” His eyes were beginning to burn, and Bellamy braced for an attack. “You and Clarke…took everything from me—for your people, I know the story.” He held up a hand as if Bellamy was going to explain the reasoning behind it all. “I do understand that urge, that burden, of needing to protect what’s yours. It’s something that makes you and me alike. Clarke too. We’re leaders here, just trying to survive this _fucking world_.”

He stopped again, eyes growing vacant as he stared at Bellamy without really seeing him. The silence stretched between them, but Bellamy didn’t dare break it, afraid of what was coming.

He balled his hands into fists, suddenly wondering if he was wasting his chance to escape. Cage was here, directly in front of him, with no visible weapons, and he had just told Bellamy that there were only a few survivors left in the mountain. Bellamy could fight his way out.

His breath hitched, and his eyes flicked behind Cage, trying to see what lay beyond the door.

“That’s why I’m not going to kill your people,” Cage finally said, breaking Bellamy’s tenuous concentration.

Bellamy forced his breath out slowly, and tried to loosen his fists, angry that whatever chance he might have had, had just slipped through his lax fingers.

“No, your people deserve to live after everything Clarke did for them.” Cage suddenly jerked forward, hand going around Bellamy’s throat and pressing him tight against the wall. “I’m just going to kill you and Clarke, but rest easy with the knowledge that your people will live.”

Bellamy choked and clawed at Cage’s hand, scratching deep gouges into the skin. His legs thrashed, trying to find purchase on the damp floor, and his back arched.

“Dammit!” Cage swore, releasing Bellamy and pulling his bleeding hand to his chest. He stood up, aiming at kick at Bellamy’s side with a low growl.

It didn’t hurt as much as Bellamy expected, but it would leave a bruise.

Cage turned to exit the room, but Bellamy jerked forward, grabbing at Cage’s ankle, feeling weak and stupid, but needing to know—

“Where’s Jasper?” he demanded, voice hoarse. “What did you do to him?”

Cage easily knocked Bellamy’s hand away, but paused at the doorway, giving Bellamy a pitying look. The emotion was clumsy and ill-fitting on Cage’s face, and Bellamy swallowed hard, already knowing the answer.

“No…” he whispered. His body was already bent forward in his attempt to stop Cage from leaving, and he didn’t bother to straighten. He kept himself curled forward, making it easier to hide his face for when Cage told him the truth.

“We needed to make sure Clarke knew what would happen to you if she doesn’t give herself up to me.”

Bellamy frowned, staring at the stone floor; why Jasper and not him? Either of them would have served Cage’s purpose and ultimate goal of bringing Clarke to him.

“You’re wondering why I didn’t bring Jasper, aren’t you?” Cage said above him, and Bellamy twitched at the sound of his voice. “Other than the fact that I want your death to be slow, we’ve been watching your camp for weeks…I know who Clarke cares about, _really_ cares for, and that person isn’t Jasper.”

The door clanged shut a moment later, blotting out the light and leaving him in darkness once again. Bellamy released a single sob. It tore out him, harsh and too loud.

He straightened, tilting his head away from the camera, and bringing his arm up to his mouth, pressing it to his lips.

Another sob was rising in his chest, he could feel it coming, but Bellamy bit down hard on his arm, teeth splitting the skin. His cry was muffled this time and the pain brought clarity to his hazy mind.

He shuddered, and then dropped his arm down to his side, head sinking back against the wall. He stared listlessly up to the ceiling, once against taking stock of his situation: He was captured by the Mountain Men and they were using him to lure Clarke to them—and she would come because that’s who Clarke was; it didn’t matter if she cared for him or not, like Cage seemed to think. And when she came, her blood would be on his hands. Hands that were already drenched in the blood of his people, grounders, and now Jasper.

.

.

There was a buzzing in Clarke’s head, so loud and aggressive she couldn’t hear anything else. Her hands were white and bloodless from clutching her empty pistol. Someone had tried to take it away from her, but Clarke had screamed something at them, and they had left, leaving her alone in the tower.

She didn’t know how long she had been up there, but her legs were cramping from the awkward, sprawled position she had fallen into after the Mountain Men had disappeared into the woods. The sun had been completely swallowed up by dark clouds, and a few minutes ago, it had started pouring rain; the only thing that seemed to have broken Clarke out of her shock.

 _Stupid, fucking shock_. She should be over that by now; she had lost people before and had never frozen like this.

But she had never lost Bellamy—no, that wasn’t true. He had been lost when she had closed the Dropship during the battle against the Grounders, and to the mountain the last time she had sent him there. She didn’t know why it felt like he was so completely and hopelessly gone this time. 

And it wasn’t just Bellamy. Jasper was gone too. Dead at Cage’s hand, whether it was his personal hand or not, it didn’t matter; he had ordered the death.

Jasper didn’t deserve that fate; he was supposed to live a long life, a life that Clarke had fought bitterly to give him.

Her heart felt trapped, beating heavily against her ribs, and she took a shuddering breath, trying to gather what was left of her sanity.

This is what she knew: Bellamy was gone, but not dead yet. Cage demanded that she turn herself over to the mountain, promising not to kill her people—that was a lie, if she had ever heard one, and they hadn’t mentioned anything about releasing Bellamy, but if what Murphy had told her was the truth, Cage wanted both of them. So Bellamy would stay in the mountain, whether or not Clarke did as Cage demanded.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Clarke bit out, and carefully pried her fingers open, letting the pistol drop to the ground at her side. The heavy metal hit her hip on the way down before it clunked against the wooden floor, but she hardly noticed.

Her hand throbbed and she curled and uncurled it a few times, trying to get the blood flowing again. She stared at the white skin of her palm, trying to think, but any logical thought was getting edged out with the knowledge that somewhere, miles away, Bellamy was sitting in a cell, likely beaten and bloody, all alone.

“Clarke…?” A voice floated up through the hatch in the floor of the tower, followed by the sound of labored climbing.

Clarke leaned forward, peering down through the opening and saw Raven, pulling herself up the ladder; her bad leg weighing her down, but Clarke knew better than to offer help.

So, instead, Clarke watched as Raven stubbornly heaved herself up onto the platform, dark hair sticking to her skin, wet from the rain. It took Raven a few minutes to settle herself across from Clarke, and it was easy to see the pain lining her friend’s face, even if Raven was trying to hide it.

Clarke wanted to reach out and offer Raven some support, but she wasn’t sure if Raven would accept it, so instead she stayed silent, feeling worse than before; she was a shitty friend, as well as leader.

“Did you volunteer to come talk to me or _get_ volunteered?” Clarke finally said, voice raspy. She coughed, dry and harsh, into the palm of her hand. 

“No one volunteered me,” Raven said, rolling her eyes. “You’re not that scary.”

“That’s not what I was talking about,” Clarke said, eyes flicking away from Raven’s and suddenly filling with tears.

Raven was quiet, and Clarke was grateful for it. 

It was her fault that Jasper was dead, and everyone knew it. Why would any of the 100 or the Arkadians want to see her face, knowing that she had more blood on her hands? Unbidden, her fingers rubbed against each other and she could almost feel the slick, red blood that should have coated them. A shiver ran down her spine, and she clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering.

“It’s not…Jasper made his own choice to follow Bellamy out there,” Raven said after a long moment.

Clarke’s eyes snapped back to Raven, and she frowned, shaking her head. “Are you saying this is on Bellamy?”

“No! It’s no one’s fault—except for the people who killed him.”

“But they killed him because of me!” Clarke insisted, body leaning forward. “They wanted to send _me_ a message, no one else.”

“Jasper isn’t just some message!” Raven snapped back, and swiped a hand down her face, but any tears she might have had were lost in the water still dripping from her hair. “He was my friend too, Clarke, and you don’t just get to decide that his death is your fault or that you’re the only one hurting.”

Clarke flinched, leaning back again, trying to put some space between the two of them.

“Bellamy—” she started after a beat, her voice almost a whisper. 

“Also made his own, stupid choice,” Raven cut in. Her eyes were burning. “If we’re all taking blame today, then blame me for that one. I knew he was going out—hell, I helped him—and I did nothing.” Raven’s mouth twisted. “Bellamy is my friend, but I’m not going to let you go sacrifice yourself for him or anyone else. We’re not going to be stupid about this, and we know Cage is a fucking liar; he won’t let the rest of us live after he kills you and Bellamy. He’ll finish us all off eventually.”

Clarke pushed back against the wall of the tower, hopelessness rising in her throat. She choked it back down as best as she was able. “Then what am I supposed to do? If I don’t go, he’ll kill Bellamy, probably in front of us, and then come for me anyway. If I do, there’s no guarantee that he won’t kill everyone anyway…and Bellamy will still die too.” She waved her hands, helplessly. “I’m stuck. No matter what I do, I’m _fucked_.”

Raven nodded. “That’s why you need all of us. You can’t shoulder this alone. Together we can figure something out.”

“In three days?” Clarke said with a hysterical laugh.

“We will.” Raven glared at her. “We’ve done it before, and we can do it again.”

Despite everything, Clarke’s chest loosened, just a little, and she almost believed Raven. “We just have to hope that Bellamy can survive until then.” Her voice was bitter and sharp.

Raven shifted forward, knocking her boot against Clarke’s outstretched legs. “He will. You know as well as I do that he’s a fighter. He won’t let Cage win.”

Ice was forming around Clarke’s heart, the only protection against what she knew was coming, and she shook her head against Raven’s words. “Maybe.” It was all she could manage, but she knew the truth was that neither of them had any idea what Bellamy could withstand and the reality was that he might dead in three days’ time.

.

.

Bellamy wasn’t sure how long it had been since Cage had come into the cell and told him Jasper was dead. It felt a little like he was swimming under water; everything was moving sluggishly in his head, and time was passing by him in slow, measured moments.

In a detached sort of way, he knew that the next time the door opened it wouldn’t be Cage coming in for a chat.

He tried to shake the fog of Jasper’s death away and focus on surviving, but that was easier said than done.

He and Jasper hadn’t been on great terms for a long while, and even before that, Bellamy had threatened to kill him during the Dropship days. They barely had a chance to really get to know each other and become friends, and now they never would.

That thought echoed in his head, and he choked on it, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing the palms of his hands into them until all he saw were stars dancing across his vision.

Life was cruel to take Jasper away after surviving so much, and now Bellamy had to live, for however long that might be, with the knowledge that Jasper was dead because of him. If he hadn’t gone off into the woods, Jasper never would have followed and would still be alive.

He pushed his hands harder against his closed eyes until it was almost painful, taking a shallow breath into his lungs. 

But…it was really Cage who had done the killing, even if Bellamy had set the whole thing in motion with his stupid actions. 

He dropped his hands and snapped his eyes open, anger finally making itself known for the first time in what felt like hours. It burned through him, hot and fast, filling his veins with a shaky strength.

Apparently just in time because a second later the door swung open, flooding his cell with light again.

He didn’t know what to expect, but he wasn’t going to just sit and _let_ the Mountain Men take him to wherever Cage was waiting.

Two soldiers stood in the doorway, looking too relaxed for the circumstances. One of them leaned against the doorframe while the second, Bellamy briefly saw that his nametag read Riggs, sauntered inside the cell, and Bellamy tensed, wondering if his anger would get him very far in any sort of fight.

But he had already decided that he wasn’t going to let them take him away without making them regret it, so when Riggs leaned down, meaning to grab Bellamy by his arms and haul him to his feet, Bellamy lashed out with both hands, grabbing Riggs’ outstretched arms and pulling him to the ground.

Riggs hit the wet cement with a grunt as Bellamy staggered to his feet, grimacing as his stiff limbs screamed in protest at the sudden movement after hours of inactivity.

Riggs rolled onto his back, mouth twisting and eyes burning, still on the ground. It was a stupid mistake on the young soldier’s part not to get up right away, and Bellamy planted a precise kick into Riggs’ face, feeling bone crunch under his bare foot; he couldn’t help the thrill of satisfaction that rippled through him at the small act of violence.

Riggs howled and writhed on the ground, hands springing to his face. Internally, Bellamy mocked him; a broken nose wasn’t that bad. The pain shouldn’t have kept the soldier on the ground, but then again, these people were from the mountain and didn’t know what it took, how much _pain_ it took, to survive.

Eyes flashing with disgust and anger, Bellamy turned his attention to the second soldier.

This one had immediately taken steps away from Bellamy, creating space between the two of them, and had his weapon out, but Bellamy knew that he wasn’t going to shoot him; Cage wanted him alive.

“Riggs, you good?” the second soldier said, eyes pinned to Bellamy, who sneered back.

“Fuck no!” Riggs gurgled through the blood streaming out of his nose. “Twiggy, he broke my fucking nose!”

Twiggy? Bellamy eyed the second soldier, who was tall and thick with muscles; the name was probably meant to be ironic. 

Bellamy stomped down again, keeping Twiggy in his sight, hoping to get lucky and connect with some part of Riggs’ body.

A muffled cry rang out in the small space again, and Bellamy grinned, wild and animalistic, but then danced away from Riggs. This wasn’t a fight he was going to win, but if he stayed where he was, Riggs was going to get his act together and pull Bellamy to the ground, and then he would be easily subdued.

“So what’s your plan, Blake?” Twiggy asked. His pistol was pointed at Bellamy, but his finger wasn’t anywhere near the trigger; he probably thought he would be able to talk the dumb kid down without much more than a threat of the gun. “You’re not getting out of this mountain.”

Fire was burning through Bellamy, but it wouldn’t last; he needed to use it while he had it. He clamped his mouth shut, teeth grinding together as he glared at Twiggy.

Abruptly, Bellamy ran forward, and saw Twiggy’s eyes widen in surprise before he body-slammed the other man, shoving him out of the cell into the corridor.

They hit the wall with a muffled thump, and Twiggy’s head slammed back, cracking against the stone with a sound that made Bellamy’s stomach lurch. A part of him was urging Bellamy to grab hold of Twiggy’s hair and knock his head against the wall again and again until there was nothing left but bloody bone.

But he didn’t. He forced himself to release his hold on the other man, who dropped to the floor in a boneless heap, and then took off down the hall, bare feet slapping against the tiles and sending shivers up his legs.

He had no idea of how to get out, and he had no illusions that he would even be making it outside, even if traitorous hope was starting to prickle in his chest when there were no shouts behind him.

He chanced a look over his shoulder, almost expecting hands to be reaching for him already, but Twiggy was still on the floor, motionless, and Riggs was just starting to stagger out of the cell, mouth stained red from the broken nose. Neither of them were coming after him.

The hope in his chest flared brighter, but then Bellamy rounded a corner and ran full tilt into a huddle of soldiers, who were presumably coming to restrain him.

“Shit—fuck!” Bellamy yelped, skidding into the chest of one man while his left arm smacked into the face of another.

For a moment, there was only frozen silence; it seemed that they were just as surprised as he was, but then Bellamy let out a hoarse yell and head-butted the closet soldier.

That was a mistake and he staggered backward, clapping a hand to his forehead as his entire head swam and buzzed. He blinked rapidly, hoping to pull himself together so that he could keep the upper hand, but it was going to be a short fight, no matter what he did. He raised loose fists, swaying as he squinted through blurry eyes.

“The kid’s a fighter,” someone muttered, and Bellamy almost felt proud, throwing a humorless grin in the general direction of the voice. 

“Take him _down_!” Cage was somewhere in the back, and it didn’t sound like he appreciated Bellamy’s will to escape.

A stun baton, similar to the ones they had on the Ark, appeared in front of Bellamy’s face and then a second later it was jabbed into his side.

His body curled and vibrated as the currents rang through him. His teeth snapped shut, almost cutting his tongue off in the process, and he dropped heavily to the ground where he spasmed a few more times.

Bodies swarmed above Bellamy, and he could hear Cage yelling as his hearing came and went, and despite the utter failure, Bellamy’s lips twitched into a lopsided smile; he forgot what it was like to completely _not_ give a shit and cause chaos wherever he went.

He barely felt it when he was rolled onto his stomach; his body was still humming with leftover currents from the stun baton. His arms were wrenched behind his back and cold metal encircled his wrists, clicking shut. He tugged at it, but it was too tight.

“Well, that was incredibly stupid,” Cage said somewhere above him and a boot dug into his ribs, shoving him onto his back again.

Bellamy swallowed a yell as his arms and hands were crushed under his weight, and he arched his back, trying to ease the pressure, but it didn’t stop until someone grabbed him by his neck and pulled him into a sitting position.

He gagged at the hands encircling his throat, but they released him as soon as he was sitting.

Bellamy swallowed a few times, testing the damage, but it had been brief enough that it didn’t hurt too much.

“You could have gotten yourself shot over this stunt,” Cage said. “Is that what you wanted? You had _no_ chance of getting out of the mountain.”

Bellamy blinked slowly up at him, and said, “You’re going to kill me no matter what. You really expect me to go to my death without fighting?” The words came out clearer than they should have considering what he had just endured in the last few minutes. 

“I’m not going to kill you yet.” Cage turned, motioning to a soldier, who stooped down and hauled Bellamy upright. He knees buckled immediately, but with a curse the soldier wrapped an arm around Bellamy, holding him up.

Cage stared at Bellamy, taking him apart with his eyes. “Now that I have you, I’m not going to kill in you in just one sitting.” He tsked and added, “That would be a waste.”

A cold finger dragged itself down Bellamy’s spine, and staring at the older man, Bellamy wondered what Cage was going to do to him, and how long it would be before he started begging Cage for death.

Bellamy swallowed hard, thinking of Jasper and Clarke and everyone at Arkadia. He couldn’t give Cage the satisfaction of showing fear or pleading for a release; he needed to stay strong for all of them. 

“Bring him to my lab,” Cage said, turning to lead the way.

Bellamy dug his heels into the floor, but it didn’t do any good and it wouldn’t delay the pain that was coming.

.

.

Clarke’s fingers dug into her skull, and sharp pain flared. Her head was bowed, but the voices around her hadn’t stopped talking. It had been _hours_ , and nothing had been decided; Clarke could almost understand why Bellamy had listened to this for a day before he had run off into the forest. 

“None of this is going to help us get Bellamy home,” Clarke finally said, lifting her head and glaring at the 100 who were crammed into Raven’s workspace. She hadn’t raised her voice very much, but everyone heard her and fell silent.

Wide and scared eyes stared back at her, and she felt a pang of guilt for her impatience. They were all terrified, just like she was, that Bellamy was gone, that they weren’t ever going to see him again. They had already lost so many people, and she wasn’t sure they could survive losing Bellamy too.

“We don’t have any way to get into the mountain without Cage knowing,” Clarke said. They had gone over this important fact too many times, and were no closer to finding a solution. “The only way it worked last time was because Bellamy let himself be captured.”

But that bit was new and a weighty silence hovered over them as the 100 exchanged looks.

“You’re not suggesting…?” Monty started. Clarke tried not to look too hard at Monty; his face was puffy from crying over what was left of Jasper. 

“Oh, she is.” It was Murphy this time. _Why_ he was there, Clarke wasn’t sure. “Clarke wants to play the hero and get herself captured.” Still bruised and beaten, Murphy looked grotesque as he offered her a mocking grin and a salute, but she ignored him and pushed down the hint of anger at him for doing what he did best, which was causing disquiet among the group.

“If anyone goes into the mountain, it should be me!” Octavia said, voice loud and angry. “He’s _my_ brother.” Clarke eyed the younger girl. Tear tracks ran down her face in twin streaks, but her voice was strong not hinting at the turmoil inside. 

“Bellamy is important to all of us,” Raven said, dismissing Octavia’s blood claim to Bellamy, “but that doesn’t mean we’re going to throw ourselves into Cage’s hands. It’s not a good idea.”

“Then how do you suggest we get in there?” Clarke said, frustration lining her voice. The conversation kept going in circles and it was grating at her nerves. “Even if we don’t figure out a way to get in there, Cage expects me to give myself up to him in _three_ days.”

“Which you’re not going to do,” Raven said. 

“No,” Clarke said, shaking her head. “That’s _exactly_ what I’m going to do. I’m not letting Cage—”

“Letting Cage?” Raven snapped. She shoved herself to the front of the group, getting in Clarke’s face. “You’re playing right into his hands. Giving yourself up won’t save anyone, least of all Bellamy.”

There were murmurs of agreement, and Clarke’s mouth pressed tightly together. She crossed her arms over her chest and threw a dark look at the room. “It’s my choice.”

“No—,” Raven started, but Monty interjected, half-raising his hand. “I might have an idea…”

All eyes turned to him, and Clarke didn’t want to dare to hope, but looking at her genius friend, she couldn’t help but wonder if they would find another miracle that would save not just Bellamy, but all of them.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not completely happy with this chapter, but I'm trying to do a once a week update so it'll have to do. Also, please note that while there is a plot in this fic, it's not overly complicated and the story is more about Bellamy and Clarke. So I guess don't expect anything great haha. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. smirking at fresh blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some graphic descriptions of torture in here

[5] 

“Hey, hey, stay with me!” Something hit Bellamy’s cheek and his head rolled to the side.

His eyes were squeezed shut, but he could feel hot tears inching their way out of them and trailing down his cheeks.

“Clarke…?” he murmured through thick lips, but he didn’t know why he said that; Clarke wasn’t here, in this fucking hell hole, and with any luck she never would be.

“Holy _shit_ —”

“Shut up!” That was Cage, but Bellamy didn’t know the first voice. It would probably help if he opened his eyes again, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to stay where he was, floating in and out of consciousness where the pain that racked his body was muffled and vague.

“His heart _stopped_ , Cage!”

“And you got it started again, Willis. Problem solved.”

His heart had stopped? That probably explained why his chest hurt so much. Bellamy winced; thinking about the pain only brought it to the forefront of his mind, and just like that he could feel _everything_.

His eyes snapped opened and he tried to sit up, but the straps across his stomach and limbs jerked him to a stop. He coughed, slamming back down against the chair, as his eyes flickered around the room, trying to take stock of what had just happened.

“Good.” Cage hovered over him, blurry against the overhead lights. “You’re back with us.”

Bellamy bared his teeth, but that was all he could do. He was helpless and completely in Cage’s control. Renewed terror washed over him, and he pulled against the restraints again, like a wild animal caught in a trap.

“Easy there,” Cage said with a brittle smile. “You’re getting yourself all worked up.” He pressed a hand to Bellamy’s forehead, maybe in comfort or maybe like a master petting their dog. Bellamy twisted his head, shaking the hand off.

“Don’t _fucking_ touch me!” he snapped. His voice scrapped against his throat, and he wondered if he had been screaming. He swallowed convulsively. 

“It’s a little late for that,” Cage said. He looked at Bellamy with a critical eye. “I don’t know how much you just heard, but I don’t want you dead.”

“Why not?” Bellamy demanded, neck straining as he tried to lift himself off the chair again, but not succeeding. “You’ve had your fun! Aren’t you ready to just kill me?”

“I’m not even _close_ to being finished with you,” Cage hissed, suddenly inches away from Bellamy. His eyes were dark and filled with an insane glimmer; his breath was stale and filled Bellamy’s nose until it was all he could smell. “You’ll die when I say you can, and I don’t want you dead until Clarke gets here.”

“Leave Clarke alone,” Bellamy bit out and snapped his head forward, cracking it against Cage’s.

Cage stumbled back, blood streaming down from where the skin on his forehead had split.

Satisfaction trickled through Bellamy, even though he really needed to stop using his head as a weapon; he didn’t know how his concussion would ever heal if he kept that up.

“You do anything to Clarke and I’ll kill you,” Bellamy promised, ignoring the pain that was flaring through skull; he had gotten good at pretending it wasn’t there in the last few hours…or maybe it had been days, he wasn’t sure anymore. 

Fury was burning in Cage’s eyes, easy to see even in the dimly lit room, but he kept a wary distance from Bellamy, pressing a hand to the blood pouring down his face.

“I might be the one on this chair,” Bellamy continued, lowering his voice, “but _you’ll_ be the one lying in your own blood when this is over.” It was an empty threat, but it felt good to say and the other man in the room, Cage had called him Willis, was pale and trembling, so Bellamy turned his attention to him. “I don’t know who you are, but just from looking at you, I can see that you’re weak. Do you know what the ground does to weak people? It’ll chew you up and spit you out.”

Cage shifted, trying to block Willis from Bellamy view, but not quite succeeding. “Good thing we have this mountain to protect my people until they’re ready for the ground.”

Bellamy snorted. “They’ll never be ready for the ground.” He paused, eyes finding Willis again. “I’ve survived the ground…so watch yourself, Willis, or _I_ just might chew you up and spit you out.”

Cage’s fist hit Bellamy’s cheek, knocking his head to the side. His ears rang from the blow, and blood filled his mouth from where his teeth had caught the inside of his cheek, but it was worth it for the look on Willis’ face.

“Enough of this!” Cage snapped.

He reached out, grabbing a fistful of Bellamy’s dark hair and jerking his head up. Bellamy let out a gasp as tears sprang into his eyes from the sharp pain.

“You may have survived the ground,” Cage said, “but you will not survive this mountain.”

Bellamy stared at Cage, close to his face again, and offered him a grin with blood stained teeth. “I already survived it once—I’ll do it again.”

Cage blinked at him, surprise springing across his face at Bellamy’s nerve, but then his features morphed into a mask of anger and he snarled as he snapped Bellamy’s head back down against the chair, and Bellamy blacked out.

When he woke up again, he was still strapped to the chair, but he was alone. He didn’t know whether to be happy about that or not.

The light was still shining overhead and he winced as he looked up at it, twisting his neck so he wasn’t staring directly at it. 

He really needed to start protecting his head; pain pounding behind his eyes, making it hard to think clearly, and he wouldn’t make it far if he got a brain bleed from the concussion that he was making worse.

He took a shallow breath and then looked down the length of his body. Bellamy couldn’t see any visible signs of what Cage had done to make his heart stop, other than various black and purple bruises across his arms and stomach, but he was pretty sure that those were from before Cage had taken him into the lab.

From what he remembered about Cage, the man was interested in experimenting with different drugs and had ended up creating something that made Reapers. Maybe Cage had given him something like that and his body couldn’t handle it and his heart stopped.

Vaguely, he also realized that Cage had probably given him something to keep him unconscious. He heard echoes of Clarke’s voice telling him that if you got knocked on the head and were out for longer than five minutes, it was likely that you wouldn’t be waking up again. 

His heart picked up its pace, beating heavily against his ribcage, and despite the fear running through his veins, Bellamy supposed he was lucky that his heart seemed to be working just fine.

The door to the small, dank room abruptly swung open and Cage walked in, followed closely by Willis, who appeared stronger than before, his face a determined mask. 

“Hey, Willis,” Bellamy said voice hoarse. “You’re back. I thought we might have lost you back there.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Cage said, moving to a small table near to where Bellamy was strapped down.

Willis visibly swallowed and trailed after Cage, hovering at his elbow. “What are we doing now?”

“Now,” Cage said, intent on the tools on the table, “we’re going to make Blake wish that he had never followed Clarke Griffin’s orders into our mountain.”

Bellamy wanted to retort that he would’ve followed Clarke anywhere, but without warning, Cage suddenly lifted his hand, gripping a scalpel, and jabbed the point of it into Bellamy’s stomach, just above his hip.

Bellamy let out a hissed breath, hands tightening into clenched fists as his arms strained against the restraints, but that was the only sound that he made.

It hurt like hell, but Bellamy could handle it.

Cage frowned, clearly expecting more, and slowly twisted the scalpel, digging it a little deeper.

Bellamy huffed and glared at Cage, gritting his teeth together.

Hot blood was leaking from the wound and sliding along his skin, soaking into the waistband of his underwear.

With a disgusted grimace, Cage pulled the scalpel free, flicking it in the air so Bellamy’s blood arced in the air, hitting Willis in the face, who flinched back with a small yelp as his hands went to his face, attempting to wipe the red blood away.

“Shut up,” Cage said, ignoring the other man. Bellamy wondered why Willis was even here; it didn’t seem like he was helping Cage at all, and he clearly didn’t have the stomach for what Cage was planning.

“Is that all?” Bellamy said, eyes flicking down to the small hole in his skin to Cage. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to antagonize his captor, but his head was pounding and he wasn’t so sure that he would survive Cage, despite his strong words otherwise. Grief and helplessness was running through Bellamy, and all he wanted was for this game to be over.

“No.” Cage grabbed Bellamy’s hand, lifting it as much as the straps would allow, and took Bellamy’s forefinger and abruptly snapped it.

The bone broke as easily as a stick cracking underfoot, and Bellamy let out a low growl, legs jerking.

“Good enough for you?” Cage asked, head cocking to the side. “No? How about this?” He broke two more fingers in quick succession, and this time Bellamy couldn’t stop the small yell that climbed its way out of his throat.

Sweat broke out across his skin and his breath was heaving out of him, more from the fear of what Cage was going to do next than from the pain radiating from his fingers.

“Still not enough, tough guy?” Cage said. His voice was strangely calm, almost monotone, but his eyes were shining with glee. “Let’s try this then.” He dropped Bellamy’s hand and went back to the small table, reaching down and then holding up Bellamy’s knife, the one that he had been forced to give up back in the field.

He pressed the tip of it into Bellamy’s stomach, close to where he had stabbed the scalpel, but he didn’t jab the knife into him, like Bellamy was expecting, instead he slowly dragged the sharp point of it across his skin, leaving a long gash in its wake.

Blood eased its way out, almost like an afterthought, and for a moment Bellamy didn’t understand what the point of that had been, until Cage traded the knife for something that looked like a clear jar of salt.

“Willis?” Cage said, intent on Bellamy. “Get that fire started. I want to try the brand next.”

Bellamy’s jaw ticked as he clenched his teeth tight, but he refused to look away from Cage, even as his body began to react to what was about to happen, trembling and shuddering against the chair.

“Is this enough yet?” Cage whispered, leaning down. “No?”

“ _No_ ,” Bellamy bit out between his teeth. “Just fucking do it.”

Surprise flickered across Cage’s face, but then his mouth pressed into a tightlipped smile and he started to pour the salt.

.

.

Clarke was running out of time. The knowledge that she had less than a day to go to the mountain and give herself up to Cage was thrumming through her skull, and panic didn’t even begin to cover what she was feeling every time she thought about Bellamy.

He had been in the mountain for over two days with a deranged psychopath. Cage had no one to rein him in anymore and he was running on hate and the need for revenge.

It didn’t help that Clarke had been standing in the Grounder camp for what seemed like hours, listening to the Grounders speak freely around her about the rumors coming from the mountain. Whether they knew she could understand them or not didn’t seem to matter to them.

They kept sending her little looks full of fear and awe, and she didn’t understand it meant until Octavia had explained that they were calling her Wanheda, _the Commander of Death_. Her actions in the mountain had given her the respect and fear of the Grounders, but all it did was make her mouth sour when she thought about the people she had killed.

But now, standing in the impromptu camp just a few miles from Arkadia, thinking about Bellamy, Clarke knew that she would do it all over again if it meant freeing him.

She trembled at the realization, and wondered when she had turned into this monster.

“Clarke, stop pacing. You’re making me crazy.” Murphy’s voice was low and almost bored. 

She rounded on him. “What are you even doing here again?”

Murphy quirked an eyebrow at her, unimpressed. “I’m the one with the friend, remember?”

“A miracle,” Clarke muttered, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared at the closed tent flap.

Murphy shrugged at her side, but Octavia let out a small huff of contained laughter. It wasn’t a full laugh, and Clarke didn’t think that Octavia had even smiled since Bellamy had been captured.

“What’s your friend’s name again?” Octavia asked.

Murphy squinted at her, obviously thinking that she was making fun of him, but he must not have seen anything in her face because a second later he muttered, “Emori.”

Clarke turned to face him. “Tell me how you know her. Can we trust her?”

“I already went over this—,”

“Go over it again!” Clarke snapped, voice rising. She felt eyes on her and swallowed, pulling her emotions tight again. “Please.”

Murphy nodded and raked a hand through his hair, or what was left of it; Raven had taken clippers to it, shaving the sides close to his skull until he was left with only a tuft of long hair on top.

“When Jaha took us on that pointless adventure, I met Emori in the desert. She betrayed us, but after Jaha killed himself, she found me and saved my life. She helped me get back to Arkadia.” He chewed on his tongue for a moment. “She’s not accepted by the Grounders here, but I figured she had a better chance of getting a message to Lexa than one of us.”

Clarke nodded. “She risked her life for us.”

“Yeah.” Murphy cleared his throat, eyes going to the tent, betraying the worry he was obviously trying to bury. “She’s been in there a long time.”

“Lexa won’t kill her,” Clarke said.

“We don’t know that,” Octavia said helpfully. “Lexa betrayed us once. Who’s to say she won’t do it again.” 

Clarke sent a warning look at the other girl, but it was ignored.

“This plan is stupid, Clarke. We don’t need the Grounders help. We can take the mountain without them.”

“Octavia…”

“No! Clarke, they have my brother and the longer we wait here—” She bit off the rest of her sentence, ducking her head so that Clarke and Murphy couldn’t see the tears that had to be falling.

Clarke reached out a hesitant hand, placing it on Octavia’s shoulder. She tensed under Clarke’s hand, but didn’t shake it off.

“It’s going to work. Lexa owes me this much.” Clarke’s stomach clenched at Lexa’s name, churning with anger at what had happened months ago, but she was willing to put that aside if Lexa helped her save Bellamy. “Besides, I’m Wanheda.”

The name, recognizable to the Grounders around them, sent visible shivers through the huddle of Lexa’s people.

That alone was enough to make Clarke think that this was going to work. But if they didn’t get the soldiers they needed from Lexa, then they would be left with only their people in Arkadia, and that wasn’t enough to take the mountain. It wasn’t last time, and even with the Mountain Men almost wiped out, there was no way to know how many people Cage had left.

The tent flap snapped open and Emori exited, followed closely by a Grounder that Clarke didn’t recognize. His hard gaze found Clarke and he jerked his chin at her. “She’ll see you now.”

Clarke swallowed hard and followed the nameless Grounder into the tent. She blinked rapidly, trying to get her eyes adjusted to the dark tent, but it took her longer than she would have liked before she could make out Lexa, sitting on her throne that looked like it was made out of rib bones rather than wood.

Lexa’s dark eyes were pinned on Clarke as she flicked her hand at the Grounder. “Leave us.”

“But, Heda—”

“ _Now_.”

He muttered something at Clarke that sounded like a threat, but Clarke wasn’t impressed and told him as much with a look.

Then he was gone and she was left alone with Lexa, and she suddenly didn’t feel so confidant. If she couldn’t work something out with the Grounder Commander than Bellamy was fucked.

With that thought banging around in her head, Clarke focused on Lexa, who was staring at her, features smooth like a stone. She looked like some kind of avenging god, sitting on her throne, with black paint smeared across her eyes and a dagger in hand.

“Lexa,” Clarke started, clearing her throat and hoping that she sounded stronger than she felt. “Thank you for seeing me.”

A flicker of emotion passed over Lexa’s face, and Clarke wasn’t sure what it meant, if it was a good thing or not.

“Why are you here, Clarke?” Lexa’s voice was just as Clarke remembered. Low and commanding, expecting answers immediately.

“I’m here…because I need your help,” Clarke said, almost choking on the answer. She didn’t _want_ Lexa’s help, but she needed. _Bellamy_ needed it.

“With what? My people tell me there’s been peace in your camp since you came down from the mountain.”

Clarke’s mouth twisted at the thought of Lexa watching her for months. Apparently, that was all she could do: Watch and not offer help.

The anger that Clarke was struggling to press down reared its head and she swallowed, tongue heavy with the emotion.

“Did your people also tell you about the Mountain Men who took two of my people? They killed one—gave me his head—and they still have the other.” It was hard to keep her voice down, to keep her fury and fear in check.

Lexa’s face twitched; she hadn’t known this.

“I don’t have any fight with the Mountain Men,” Lexa said slowly.

“I know,” Clarke shot back. “I remember the deal you made with them, when you left me and my people to our fate.”

Lexa leaned back on her throne, and Clarke briefly wondered if the wood was jabbing into her back, and with a vicious sort of anger, she hoped it was.

“Now we get to it,” Lexa said. Her voice was lined with resignation.

“To what?” Clarke snapped. “The part where you betrayed me or the bit where you owe me?”

“I owe you nothing,” Lexa said, voice like steel. “What’s happened to your people is through no fault of mine. It’s _your_ choices, Clarke, that are causing conflict with the mountain.”

Clarke’s mouth pinched, and she felt her hands ball into fists at her sides. “ _You_ forced my hand. You left me to the wolves and I did what I had to! Now because of that Cage has Bell—one of my people.” She choked, biting off the rest of her words and ducking her head to hide the emotions that were shining through her eyes. Not just anger at Lexa, but fear at what was happening to Bellamy while she was standing here pleading for help.

There was a heavy silence pressing down on them and Clarke swiped a hand down her face, trying to school her features into a neutral expression before looking at Lexa again.

There was something like pity on Lexa’s face, making Clarke’s stomach squirm.

“Ah,” Lexa finally said. “I see now.”

“What?” Clarke said, but some of the anger had drained out of her and now she was just tired.

“This is all for your man, Bellamy.”

Clarke’s eyebrows drew down. “No, this is for all of us. The Mountain Men will come for everyone. Not just my people, but yours too. They will wipe—”

Lexa held up a hand, cutting Clarke off. Emotions were swirling on her face, more than just pity, but sadness too and maybe something like longing.

“Enough.”

Clarke huffed out a small breath, rocking back on her heels. It felt like Lexa knew something she didn’t, and Clarke was standing in the dark with no light to guide her.

“This isn’t about your people or mine.” Lexa paused, her mouth working. “This is about Bellamy.”

Was it _just_ about Bellamy? Clarke didn’t think so, but the knowledge that she would do anything to get him back, no matter the cost, fluttered through her. But she would do that for any one of her people, not just him.

“Fine,” Clarke said slowly. “Yes, it is about him. Bellamy is my friend and a leader for our people. We need him.”

Lexa’s lips twisted as she shifted against her throne, crossing her legs as if she didn’t have a care in the world. The action made Clarke’s pent up anger thrum against her chest again.

“He’s important,” Lexa prodded. 

Clarke’s anger quieted and she blinked. This conversation felt like an echo of the last time she had talked to Lexa in this tent, back when they were allies.

“Yes,” she said softly. “He is.”

“You love him?” This time there was no emotion on Lexa’s face, but her eyes sharpened as she waited for Clarke to answer.

Clarke’s frown deepened, but she didn’t answer right away because she didn’t have one. The only thing she knew for sure was that he was her friend, someone she trusted and respected, and yes—she loved all her friends: Wells, Raven, and all of the 100, but it was different with Bellamy. He had always stood apart from the others. At first because she hated him, but then because he was the one at her side, helping lead their people.

He was…she didn’t know what he was, but it felt important, like he meant everything to her, and she couldn’t imagine doing this without him. She didn’t _want_ to do this without him.

Was that love?

Clarke cleared her throat; she had been silent for too long and could feel a pool of warmth spreading along her cheeks. “I don’t have time for love. Not like that,” she finally said. “My peoples’ survival—Bellamy coming home alive, that’s all I can think about.”

Lexa didn’t believe her, that much was clear from the look shining from her dark eyes, and Clarke wasn’t even sure she believed herself.

But one part of her answer was true: She didn’t have time for love or this conversation.

“None of that matters,” Clarke said, trying to bring the point back to the center of their discussion. “What matters is that the Mountain Men won’t stop with just my people. You and I both know that. We need to strike first, before Cage realizes that his revenge against Bellamy and I are the least of his troubles.”

Lexa’s lips were thinning and she began to drum the tips of her fingers against the arm of her throne, beating out a rhythmic noise. Her eyes were going distant, and Clarke hoped that meant she was thinking through the possibilities.

It was silent, but Clarke didn’t dare break it; she wanted to give Lexa time to see that Clarke was right. Once Cage had his fill of revenge, once Clarke and Bellamy were dead, he would remember the threat that the Grounders posed and would attack first; there would be no peace treaties between them, that much, Clarke knew.

“What exactly do you need from me, Clarke?” Lexa said, shattering the thick silence.

Clarke swallowed down a triumphant smile; this didn’t exactly mean she had won this conversation or that this plan would even work, but it was a start.

.

.

Bellamy knew that time had been passing, but he had lost all sense of it. It was just Cage’s fingers digging into him and pain dancing along his skin, then respite and silence in the darkness of his prison. Repeat.

He knew that it was a good thing that he was still alive; that meant that Clarke wasn’t here and, hopefully, Bellamy would be enough for Cage and she would never come.

But that wasn’t realistic to even consider. He could hear the tremor of rage in Cage’s voice whenever he brought up Clarke and, one way or another, Clarke was coming to save Bellamy. That was just who she was.

He was back in his cell, lying in the same position they had dumped him in. A few hours had passed since Cage had had his fun, and he figured that meant he only had a few more before Cage came back, but if Cage kept up this furious pace of torture, Bellamy wasn’t going to last; his body would give out before Cage was satisfied.

That thought didn’t scare Bellamy as much as it used to, and he didn’t know if that was because he was in too much pain to care or if he had just accepted his fate and figured there was no use in crying about it.

Either way, the haze of pain that was buzzing through his body was enough to take his mind off his impending death. It was _all_ he could think about.

Everything throbbed. From his healing concussion down to the soles of his cut up feet. Bellamy had lost track of everything that had been done to him, but the brand that Cage had given him, seared into the right side of his lower stomach, hurt the most. It was hot to the touch and was an angry red that hadn’t seemed to go away no matter how much time passed.

From the little Bellamy remembered of Clarke’s first aid, that wasn’t a good sign, but there was nothing that he could do about it. If Cage decided that he would let infection and fever take Bellamy out, then that’s what would happen.

But Bellamy doubted that was part of Cage’s plan. He seemed to want to make this last as long as possible, and he wouldn’t let Bellamy die before he was though.

The stone floor that he was pressing against was damp and cold, but Bellamy was glad about that; he was sweating and couldn’t seem to cool down.

Carefully, he slowly eased himself off his stomach, rolling onto his back and then scooting up, using his heels, until he was propped against the wall.

His breath was whistling out of him, and he hated how much the movement had cost him. There would be no more running for freedom in his state. He would probably fall over before he even made it out of the cell. He had already come to the conclusion that he was only leaving this mountain if he died or if someone came for him.

Bellamy slowly lifted his arm and using his good hand, the one without the broken fingers, he prodded the skin around his burn, hissing at the touch. He didn’t know if he was hot under the pads of his fingers; he just couldn’t feel it anymore.

He hadn’t been able to figure out what the symbol was that Cage had burned into his flesh. At first it had been too red and swollen to make out and then Bellamy hadn’t cared, but now, squinting down at it, Bellamy could see the vague shape of it.

Using his fingers, he lightly skimmed over it, tracing it. It was hard to really tell what it was, but it vaguely felt like a bird under his fingertips, and Bellamy remembered that the Mt. Weather soldier’s had a badge that had an eagle on it, so it made sense that this was the same.

A sour taste filled his mouth. Branding humans had a dark past in all the books he had read back on the ark, mostly having to do with slaves and thieves and other criminals, and what Cage had done to him, branding him with the Mt. Weather logo, it was a clear statement of ownership.

There was a clunking sound at the door, and Bellamy tensed. Was Cage back already? He had barely recovered from the last time, but was too weak to do anything to stop Cage and his people from taking him again. He braced, waiting with clenched teeth.

The door swung open and light flooded in and Bellamy flinched against it, twisting his head away from it.

His fingers dug into the floor, nails scrapping against the hard stone, as he waited for hands to grab him and pull him away, but nothing came.

A muted fear ran through him; what else could they do to him? Another thought occurred to him: Cage wasn’t the only one with a taste for revenge. Bellamy had made enemies, even within the last few days he had been in the mountain.

Bellamy carefully shifted and then squinted at the open door. Outside, crouched just within the threshold, was Riggs. A thick, white bandage was tapped to his nose and his eyes were bloodshot and the skin around them were purple. He was staring at Bellamy, silent and waiting for Bellamy to make the first move.

It wasn’t who Bellamy had been expecting and despite his situation, relief trickled through him. He offered Riggs a crooked grin.

“Hey,” he croaked out.

Riggs’ eyes widened and he rocked back on his heels before a dark look shifted across his face. “Hey? That’s all you have to say to me?”

Bellamy hummed and pretended to think. “What about…I sure missed seeing your face, Riggs.” Riggs’ jaw clicked as Bellamy gestured to Riggs’ bruises. “I got you good, and put you out of the game for a while, huh? How’s it feeling?”

“How the hell do you think?” Riggs growled. “You broke my nose!”

“That had been the plan,” Bellamy said, head lolling to the side a little.

“You fucking asshole!” Riggs snapped and made to move into the cell, probably to return the favor, but then stopped himself. He took a breath and stayed where he was.

Bellamy had missed throwing fuel on the fire, and a misplaced grin etched itself onto his face. _What’s wrong with a little chaos?_

It helped that he wasn’t scared of Riggs. The other man wasn’t much older than Bellamy and had proved himself to be a weak soldier, not ready for the ground in any sense of the word.

If it was a fair fight against Riggs, Bellamy was confidant of coming out on top with ease. Of course, it wouldn’t be fair between them, but Riggs had stopped himself from going after Bellamy a second ago, and must just be here to talk.

“What do you want?” Bellamy finally asked when Riggs stayed quiet for too long. “Don’t you have anything better to do than stare at me?” It was hard to make his voice sound normal after hours of holding down screams; eventually, he had given in to Cage’s pain and had screamed so hard that he thought he might have torn the inside of his throat.

Riggs shrugged and sat fully down on the floor, leaning his back against the doorframe. He stretched his legs out in front of him, suddenly looking too comfortable.

“You’ve been outside—survived outside.” It was so matter-of-fact that Bellamy didn’t know what to say.

“Was that a question?”

Riggs’ eyes narrowed, but then he added, “How is it possible? We saw you when you first landed, and when our people were able to go out, we watched you. You were just _kids_. You shouldn’t have survived more than a few days out there.”

Now it was Bellamy’s turn to shrug, even though it made him hiss as dull pain flared across his torso. “We just did.”

“But how?” Riggs demanded, leaning forward. 

Bellamy swallowed. “Not of all of did. I lost more than half of my people to the Grounders.”

Riggs’ mouth curled. “Animals.” He eyed Bellamy. “But _you’re_ still here.”

“For now,” Bellamy said, bitterness creeping into his voice.

“How’d you do it?” Riggs asked, ignoring the truth of Bellamy’s statement; they both knew he was marked for death. 

How had he survived? Bellamy tipped his head back, careful not to press too hard against the tender spot near the base of his skull. He didn’t know how he had made it when others hadn’t. It was a little bit of skill and a whole lot of luck.

His eyes shifted back to Riggs. “I dunno. I just did. You learn pretty quickly out there that if you don’t adapt, you’ll die. I adapted.” He paused, eyes raking Riggs’ hunched form. “Will you?”

Riggs’ eyes flashed. “My people are going to make it. We’ve survived in this mountain for decades, and we’ll still be here when you’re all gone.”

Bellamy nodded tiredly. “If you say so.”

Riggs looked like he wanted to argue more, but Bellamy was starting to sag as sleep tugged at him, begging him to finally rest. “If that was all…?”

There was a sound of boots against the tiles as Riggs stood up. “No. I wanted you to know that you should try and get your strength back. Cage won’t be here for a while. He’s getting ready for your girlfriend.”

Bellamy’s eyes sharpened and he straightened, sleep forgotten. “What?”

A cruel smile was playing on Riggs’ lips. “Your girlfriend, Clarke.”

“Clarke’s here?” Bellamy’s stomach dropped and his breath hitched.

“Not yet, but she will be soon.”

“No—she’s not stupid. She won’t give herself up for me or anyone else.” She was too important; the 100 and Arkadians needed her alive.

“That’s not what I heard,” Riggs said with a careless shrug. “She should be here soon, but in case I see her first, I’ll tell her you said hi.”

The door slammed shut behind him and Bellamy was left alone, thoughts tangled and too loud in his head, making it impossible to rest now.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been dealing with vertigo for the past week, which made writing this very difficult. It's mostly gone away at this point, but I'm not sure how great this chapter is because I was going through it and saw a bunch of grammar mistakes, and I would think that I probably missed quite a few. Sorry about that!   
> Thanks for reading!


	6. don't forget to show me some mercy

[6] 

It hadn’t been decided how Clarke was supposed to give herself up to Cage, but she knew that he wouldn’t be stupid enough to come out of the mountain for her, so she wouldn’t be able to lay a trap for him. He would, however, demand that she come to him, and _she_ stupid enough to do it.

But this was Bellamy, his life was fragile and breakable, resting in the palm of her hands, and she had a plan.

She just tried not to think about all the ways that her plan could go wrong; it wasn’t airtight, but they didn’t have time to come up with anything better and she wasn’t going to leave Bellamy alone anymore.

Raven had tried to talk her out of it, but Clarke had the support of the others, who seemed to understand that they needed Bellamy back and _that_ wasn’t possible unless they took this risk.

Of course, that didn’t mean Clarke wasn’t terrified. There was a good chance that once she entered the mountain, she would never come out.

Her hands were shaking and damp with sweat at her sides, and her teeth were clenched to keep them from chattering. She was staring up at the mountain that loomed overhead; she wasn’t far from the entrance now, and she was sure that the Mountain Men had seen her coming and were getting ready to meet her before she made it to their gate.

None of the 100 had come with her, but that was because Clarke had insisted that they stay behind; she didn’t want to risk their lives.

She also hadn’t told Abby or Kane, and had to suffer their long looks and quiet murmurs when she had passed them in the camp in the last few days. They weren’t stupid, they knew that the 100 were up to something, but they probably didn’t think that Clarke would be so reckless. 

With any luck, she would make it out of this alive and would be able to apologize to Abby for everything. Clarke’s heart thumped painfully against her ribs and she winced, pressing a hand to her chest; she missed her mother and the relationship they used to have. It would never be that way again, not after everything, but Clarke still mourned for the time in space when things had been simpler, even if they weren’t necessarily better.

“Stay right there!” the voice rang out, loud in the silence that had dogged Clarke since leaving the camp.

She froze, raising her hands above her head before they demanded it. She wasn’t armed with any weapons and didn’t even have a backpack; it would have been pointless to bring anything with her.

Soldiers appeared from behind sparse trees, armed and moving carefully towards her. Their faces were painted with black and green smudges and fixed into identical masks of anger and a little fear; they expected a trap.

A wave of grim satisfaction rolled over Clarke, followed swiftly by a taste of bitterness and regret. They may not call her Wanheda, like the Grounders, but that’s clearly how they saw her too. Death followed her wherever she went, and everyone was afraid that if they got too close they would be the next ones to die by her hand.

She was only eighteen and she had more blood on her hands than anyone she knew. She swallowed roughly, pride and horror at war inside her head.

“Where’s Bellamy?” she said, trying to keep her voice strong. “I want to see him.”

“You will,” one of the soldiers said, coming forward. He was young, only a few years older than she was, and his face was a mess of bruises and Clarke suspected that his nose was broken under the thick plaster covering it. “He’s waiting for you inside.”

“Alive?” she demanded, fingers curling into her palms.

The soldier, close enough now for Clarke to see his nametag read Riggs, shrugged. “Yeah.”

The answer didn’t slow her wildly beating heart, but Clarke didn’t have a choice but to trust him, and to hope that she was right about Cage’s need for revenge; he wouldn’t kill Bellamy so quickly, and would instead keep him alive until he had had his fill.

“I want to see him,” she said again as Riggs continued to approach with another soldier behind him. He was holding thick rope in his hands and was nearing her like she was a wild animal, his eyes pinned to her raised hands, waiting for a weapon to appear.

“Cage wants to see you first,” he said, slowing to a stop in front of her, and then added, “If you make a move, the guys behind me will shoot you in the leg and then get on the radio to our boys back home, who will cut an ear off Bellamy.”

A shiver raked down Clarke, but she gave him a nod. “I’m not going to do anything. I’m here, just like Cage wanted. He promised that my people would be safe, and that’s all I care about.”

She had never met Riggs before, but she could see the way his face flickered with relief that she had swallowed Cage’s lies so easily. If he thought she was naïve enough to believe them then he hadn’t listened closely enough to the stories about her.

She slowly offered him her hands, and he roughly grabbed them, as if he expected her to jerk away before he could, and tied them so tight that Clarke couldn’t feel her fingers within a few minutes.

They didn’t bother with a hood; she already knew the way inside the mountain and even if she hadn’t, they didn’t expect her to be leaving alive.

It was just as cold as she remembered inside and she tried not to let them see the small shivers that rippled through her as they shoved her down the flights of stairs into the belly of their home.

She recognized her surroundings quickly enough, and knew where they were taking her by the time they made it into the livable section of the mountain.

Cage was waiting for her in his father’s old office. The glass had been cleaned and the space had been cleared of Dante’s favorite paintings, and was now cold and sterile, just how Cage liked it.

Cage was standing behind his desk, his lips twisted into something that resembled a smile. He looked the same as last time Clarke had seen him; healthy and strong, but a little insane. He was practically thrumming with excitement as he stared at her, and she wondered how long it took the ground to make a person go mad.

Riggs shoved her inside, quietly leaving as she stumbled inside.

Once she regained her balance, she took a deep breath, letting the stale air fill her lungs until she was heady with it. She licked her lips, waiting for Cage to speak, but he didn’t. Instead, he silently watched her, measuring her with his eyes, and Clarke’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“Where’s Bellamy?” she finally said. Her voice only trembled a little.

Cage huffed out a breath of air and circled around his desk to stand in front of her. He reached forward, fingers inching towards her face. She flinched, but he only brushed back her hair, tucking it securely behind her ear. She twitched under his touch, trying not to move.

“I’ve finally got you, and you know what’s coming, but all you care about is Bellamy Blake?” His voice was low and quiet. His head cocked to the side, genuine confusion dancing along his face.

“You’ve had Bellamy for days, and I want to make sure he’s okay,” Clarke said. _Please be okay._

Cage rocked back on his heels, throwing his head back to laugh. It was exaggerated and too loud until he cut it off abruptly, snapping his head back down, as he leveled her with burning eyes.

“ _Neither_ of you are getting out of this alive.”

“Bellamy had nothing to do with—”

His hand lashed out, hitting Clarke’s cheek with a sharp _crack_. 

She didn’t make a sound, but her skin was burning from where he had hit her and she could taste blood in her mouth from where she had bit her tongue. She swallowed the blood down and faced Cage again, pressing her mouth closed. 

“Don’t lie to me!” Cage hissed, leaning close. His eyes were wide and flashing. “Bellamy is your man. Your right hand. You lead _together_ , and I know that he was with you when you—you _killed_ my people. He’s the reason you got into the mountain at all. He’s as much to blame as you.”

Clarke breathed out slowly, but didn’t say anything.

Cage swallowed, and wiped a hand down his mouth. He seemed to be trying to pull himself together again, and Clarke filed that away for later; it didn’t take much to make Cage blind with rage, and she was sure that this wouldn’t be the last time she watched him fly off the handle. 

“Besides,” Cage continued, voice carefully contained this time, “I know how much he means to you.”

Clarke frowned, opening her mouth to deny it, but Cage raised his hand again and she fell silent, flinching against her will. 

“Even if he hadn’t kill my people for you, I would have taken him anyway, just to watch you beg for his life…and you will be begging.” His eyes glinted as if he was already imagining Clarke on her knees. “I’ve had time to get acquainted with him, and he’s strong, I’ll give you that, but he’s still human, just like the rest of us, and a boy at that. He’ll break soon, and you’ll be there to watch it happen.” He paused, tongue darting out to lick his dry lips. “And when that happens, I’ll cut him open, ear to ear, and when he’s dead, it’ll be your turn.”

Bile was rising in Clarke’s throat as images of Bellamy, bloody and dead flashed across her mind, and she struggled to swallow it down. She would _not_ let him see her terror, how fear was thrumming thickly through her veins, traveling throughout her body. 

But one quick look at Cage’s eyes told Clarke that he could already see her fear and was delighted by it.

She eased out a shallow breath, trying to remember the plan, to remember that this wasn’t going to end with her dying.

A grim resolve took a hold of her, and she silently promised that if she did die, she would make sure that she took Cage with her.

.

.

Bellamy couldn’t sleep, no matter how tired he was. His eyes were dry and ached, just like the rest of him, and he was shaking against the wall he was leaning against, but he figured that was more from the fever that was raking his body rather than the cold that was seeping from the stone floor and walls.

It was dark in the cell except for the blinking red in the corner from the camera.

Bellamy had never been afraid of the dark, but he kept seeing black shapes in front of him, dancing and laughing at his pain, and that scared him a little. They never stayed still enough for him to fully determine what they were, but he could make out horns and long teeth, like the pictures of devils he had seen in books back on the ark.

A part of him understood that they weren’t really there, that he was just seeing things, that his mind was supplying images to explain the darkness around him, but another part of him felt like the demons were very real, and were here to eat his soul, to finally take him away to hell or whatever waited for him in the afterlife.

He was waiting for them to just end it and take what was left of him away.

There were clumping footsteps outside his cell, and Bellamy jerked out of the haze of fever, coughing hard while his abused chest screamed in protest. He brought a hand up to press against his chest, but choked as his broken fingers were jarred; he had forgotten that almost every finger on his left hand was broken, snapped out of their joints.

He cradled his hand, biting back whimpers that rose. With everything that had been done to him, he was more than due a moment to break down and _scream_ , but even with the fever that was shimmering along his skin making it hard to think, he knew enough to remember that there was someone on the other side of the camera, and he didn’t want to give Cage the satisfaction.

He blinked hard, scanning the cell, looking for the demons again just for something to take his mind off the physical torments, but they were gone, disappearing into the corners. His bottom lip shivered; he caught it between his teeth to make it stop, and he pressed his good hand carefully to his eyes, trying to see the stars behind his eyelids. 

But instead of stars, all he could see was Clarke. Riggs had said that she was coming to join him soon, but he didn’t know if he could trust the other man to be telling the truth, and even if a little bit of his heart was _yelling_ that Clarke was coming for him, he knew that it would be better if she didn’t. Cage was going to torture them until they were begging on the floor, and then he would put a gun to their heads and kill them both.

Bellamy figured he could handle it—if it was just him, but he didn’t know what he would do if Clarke was the one with the gun to her head. As soon as he thought it, the image seared into his brain and wouldn’t go away.

His hands trembled on his lap, and he pushed himself harder against the wall, scrapping his bare back against the stone, ignoring the grit that was making its way into the cuts that Cage had put on his skin. 

It had been Riggs’ intention to put Bellamy on edge, to make sure that he wouldn’t get any sleep, despite the opportunity to finally rest. He _hated_ that it was working; sleep was the last thing on his mind, even though his body was begging for it.

But he couldn’t sleep without knowing whether or not Clarke was in the mountain. He didn’t think that she would be stupid enough to give herself up to Cage; that was more of a Bellamy Blake move. He had too much heart, and not enough brains, but it hadn’t really been a problem before; Clarke more than made up for his illogical and rash choices.

But even as Bellamy sat in the dark cell, alone and cold and very scared, the certainty of Clarke’s arrival hit him, knocking him tight against the wet wall.

His throat bobbed as he tried to swallow down the lump of pride and terror. It was abruptly obvious that Clarke was on her way, that Riggs had been telling the truth. She was coming for _him_.

Warmth washed over him, real and almost soothing, even if he knew that it was the stupidest choice she could be making. Of course, she was coming; that was who she was. She had demonstrated that time and time again; she cared about her people and wouldn’t leave Bellamy to the mountain.

Bellamy’s chin dipped down, and he spent a few precious moments thinking about Clarke and the strength she radiated from her very being. She was like the sun, blinding him with her power. He liked that description of her, even if it felt out of place in the dark cell, and wondered if he would have the chance to tell her that she was as bright as the sun.

He frowned slightly; the pain was starting to get to him. While the image of Clarke with her sun kissed hair was fitting, it was also ridiculous and not something to just blurt out to someone.

He privately wondered if he could be the moon; he had always liked the moon, even if he had seen more than his fill of it on the ark.

“Shut up, Bellamy,” he murmured and carefully dug a finger into his thigh, pulling himself out of that train of thought. “Pull it together. You can’t be dead weight when she gets here.”

He imagined the look on her face when he finally saw her again; it was hard to believe that it had been only days, how many he wasn’t sure, since they had last seen each other, since they had last yelled at each other. She had always been one of the only people to stand up to him since they landed on the ground; most of the 100 had been too scared of him to say what they thought of him. 

_Brave Princess._

His cracked lips stung as he attempted to smile; she hated that name at first, but he liked to think that it had grown on her. Just like he had. It was no secret that Clarke and Bellamy had hated each other. But it was different now.

 _How_ exactly it was different, Bellamy wasn’t sure, but Clarke didn’t yell at him as much, and it was always with less heat than before, and she actually listened to him now.

Most times, when he thought about Arkadia and what it would be like if Clarke had died or decided to leave them, he always thought about what he would do, and it always ended with him making the wrong choice that ruined lives. He wasn’t good enough to lead the 100, not without Clarke.

He couldn’t do this alone. That thought hit him and stole the air from his lungs and for a second he couldn’t breathe.

He vaguely wondered what _this_ was, this feeling thrumming through his bones, but the reality of his situation crashed down on him a second later chasing away any longing or sentimentally he was feeling.

Blood rushed to his head, and Bellamy huffed out a harsh breath. His heart started pounding, hard and fast like a trapped bird, against his ribs.

He wanted to see Clarke, to talk to her, to feel her small hand in his, but he didn’t want her _here_ , where there was nothing but pain and eventually death.

.

.

To Clarke’s surprise, Cage didn’t do anything else to her other than leer and make specific threats about what was to come.

After he had had his fill, he had motioned for the young soldier, Riggs, to come back into the office to take her away.

Despite the fact that she was most assuredly not going to enjoy the next few days, relief was beginning to bubble through her as Riggs took down empty halls; the plan was in motion and in only a few minutes, she would be able to finally see Bellamy with her own two eyes. That was, assuming Riggs was bringing her to him.

Anxiety swirled through her, dashing the short lived relief away like it was never there, and she threw a look at the soldier striding next to her.

“Where’s Bellamy?” Her voice came out shakier than she would have liked, but Riggs paused and shot her a look before giving her a shove forward. She stumbled, boots dragging against the tiles as her tied hands jerked forward in an attempt to steady herself.

Riggs easily caught her. “Keep moving.”

A frown curled over Clarke’s face and she abruptly dug her heels into the floor, jerking them to a halt.

With a curse, Riggs swung around to face her, mouth working. “What _is_ it with you two, huh?” He reached for her arm, gripping it hard enough to leave a bruise. “I mention your name to Blake and he acts like I kicked his dog, and you! You won’t stop asking about him when you should be more worried about what Cage has planned!”

“Bellamy is my people,” Clarke snapped, jerking against his grasp, but he held her tight. “I need to make sure he’s okay.”

Riggs stared at her for a beat and then threw back his head and laughed. It was loud in the lonely hallway and grated at Clarke’s ears.

She pressed her lips together, watching as Riggs tried to regain control.

After a few long seconds, he wiped at his eyes, laughter dying down, and focused on her again. “I don’t know what makes you think there’s _any_ chance that he’s okay--c’mon, I’m taking you to him now. Cage wants the two of you together.”

As much as she already knew that Bellamy wasn’t okay, Riggs confirming it was like swallowing a stone. It sank down into her stomach and she felt vaguely sick. She supposed that was the reason Cage wanted the two of them together in a cell; it made it easier for her to see Bellamy’s torture up close and personal.

Of course, it also meant that they would be able to communicate more freely and she would be able to explain to Bellamy that they were getting out of here, one way or another.

“Let’s go,” Riggs said, bringing Clarke’s wavering attention back to him. He waved a hand, gesturing down the hall. “He’s right down there.”

She gave him a short nod and fell into step with him without any more prompting.

Clarke didn’t recognize this part of the mountain and she uneasily tried to memorize the route as best as she was able. The mountain wasn’t huge, and she had seen quite a bit of it when she was last here, but she didn’t know every single part of it and it was hard to think clearly with Bellamy so close.

Riggs came to an abrupt stop and Clarke almost stumbled into him. He put a hand out, whacking her on her shoulder to stop her from crashing into him. He rolled his eyes at her, and Clarke could practically see the image of the great Wanheda crumbling in his head. Good; the more incompetent he saw her as the better.

But then she focused on what he was doing, and sucked in a quick lungful of air, watching as he took out a key card and swiped at the scanner near the door. There was a clicking sound and the door popped open.

Riggs reached forward and pulled the door open further, ushering her in with a twirl of his hand.

“Your man is waiting for you.” His lips curled and he leered at her.

She didn’t have to be told twice, and she started to shove past him, but he suddenly reached out, stopping her.

“Wait,” he mumbled, “your hands.”

Clarke glared at him, waiting impatiently as he unsheathed a knife and sliced the rope from her slightly blue hands.

Her hands were going to hurt later when she could feel them again, but Clarke hardly cared. She pushed away from Riggs again and stepped carefully inside the cell.

It was dark, made even darker as the door swung shut behind her. She squinted, trying to be patient and wait for her eyes to adjust.

“Bellamy?” she called softly. “Where are you?”

Almost on cue, overhead lights flared on, blinding her for a brief moment. Cage probably had eyes and ears inside the cell and wanted Clarke to be able to _see_ the damage he had done to Bellamy.

The cell was small and filthy, especially in the white light shining down on them, and it was vaguely wet under Clarke’s boots, but she barely noticed as she finally caught sight of Bellamy huddled against the wall facing the door.

“Bellamy,” she breathed, jerking forward and falling to her knees in front of him.

He blearily raised his head, hair matted and hanging in his fever bright eyes. “Clarke?” he mumbled through cracked lips. “Are you here?”

“I’m here,” she promised, hands raising and hovering inches from his bare skin. She was trying not to _really_ look at him and his nakedness. She supposed that she should be thankful that Cage had at least left Bellamy’s boxers, giving him a little dignity, but it was hard to be thankful for anything as she forced herself to fully look at him, as clinically and detached as possible.

She began to scan him, doing exactly what Cage wanted and taking note of everything that had been done to him in the past three days.

Bile was climbing up her throat as she saw the purple and blue bruises that littered his body, most prominent around his ankles and wrists. Shallow cuts crisscrossed his skin, dried blood leaving the slashes dark and crusty.

Kneeling in the cold water, so close to Bellamy, Clarke could feel the fever radiating from him, and wondered what had gotten infected, but as her eyes traveled down the length of his body she saw the most likely source at his hip.

Sure she would throw up this time, Clarke swallowed convulsively as she carefully studied at the brand seared into Bellamy’s skin. She didn’t know what it was supposed to be, but what it stood for was clear, and she could practically see Cage’s crooked grin as he claimed Bellamy for the mountain.

Her hands, still suspended over Bellamy were shaking. She pulled them away, clasping them together as she chewed on the inside of her cheek; it was the only thing that was keeping her from screaming, but she could feel the need to explode rising, crawling up her throat and perching in her mouth. She wasn’t sure if she was feeling guilt that this had happened or if it was an all-consuming fury at Cage. Probably both.

Her fingers twitched and for a quick moment, she imagined Cage under them, throat pulsing under her palms as she _pushed_ , crushing his—

“How’m I looking?” Bellamy interrupted, breaking into Clarke’s dark thoughts. He stumbled over his words just a little, and his mouth worked and his eyes narrowed, frustrated by the weakness. 

Clarke jerked at his voice, hoarse and soft, not at all like the Bellamy she had come to know. She focused back on him, shaking her head of any images of killing Cage. "You’re looking…” She paused, swallowing. “We’re going to get you back to normal.”

Bellamy let out a sudden laugh, more of a harsh bark, and Clarke shuddered at the sound. He shook his head, staring at her with hooded eyes. “Don’t lie to me, Clarke.” _That_ sounded more like her Bellamy.

“You’re going to heal,” Clarke insisted, glaring at him without heat.

Bellamy blinked owlishly at her, disbelief clear, but then slowly nodded. “Okay.” He looked defeated, and Clarke wondered _what_ exactly had been done to make him look like that in such a short amount of time, but maybe she didn’t want to know. Did that make her a coward? Probably.

Unbidden, tears prickled at her eyes, but she blinked hard, chasing them away; she _wouldn’t_ cry. Bellamy didn’t need that right now, and it would Cage exactly what he wanted and she refused to do that.

“Bellamy?” she said, choking on his name.

“Clarke,” he returned quietly, staring at her.

Her lips quivered and then without caring that she was giving Cage fuel to torture her with later, reached forward and wrapped her arms around Bellamy. She shifted so that she was sitting next to him, giving her a better angle to hold him tight against her slight body, but for once she didn’t feel like he was overwhelming her with his superior height and build; Cage had stripped him so completely that Bellamy felt like a different person. He was trembling beneath her, breath hissing in and out over her shoulder from where his chin was perched. She held on tighter, trying to remind him that she was here now, that he wasn’t alone anymore.

After what felt like an eternity, his arms slowly moved and encircled around her, pressing her close to his chest. She felt his hands lock together against her spine, and her ribs screamed at the pressure, but she ignored it, focus only on Bellamy and what he needed from her.

“It’s okay,” she whispered into his filthy neck. “It’s okay, Bellamy.”

He shivered and his head shifted, dark hair tickling her skin. “No,” he said hoarsely. “It’s not.”

Clarke frowned, and wanted to pull away so she could see his face, but he didn’t let go. So neither did she.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very difficult to write and I really only like the ending. It's also a little shorter than I wanted it to be, but it'll have to do for this week. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope everyone is staying healthy and safe!


	7. darling you're with me

[7] 

Bellamy woke up slowly, grimacing at the sour taste in his mouth. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was, didn’t understand why he was lying on something hard, didn’t understand the way his body was aching— _screaming_ , really. Most all, he didn’t understand who was touching his face and running their fingers through his hair. It felt good and he didn’t want it to stop. It was a small comfort in a haze of so much pain.

He groaned, shifting against the stone floor, and tried to stop the memories from hours—days?—ago from pushing into his mind; he didn’t want to think about them, not when he was almost relaxed, or at least as relaxed as he could be.

But just because he tried to stop them from coming didn’t mean it worked, and a second later Cage’s lab and what followed flickered through his mind, and his eyes snapped open and he jerked up into a hunched sitting position. 

His breath was coming hard and fast, making his chest hurt, and adrenaline was shooting through his body until his skin was tingling from it.

It was too bright, and he squinted against it; it wasn’t at all like the darkness of his cell, and Bellamy wondered if he was back in Cage’s lab. Maybe he had passed out, and nothing from before had been real.

He stilled his rapid and jerky movements. Maybe _Clarke_ hadn’t been real.

Before he could really come to terms with that, a voice broke through his panicked thoughts and he could feel hands gripping his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin. He forced himself to focus, to take in his surroundings.

Clarke’s pale face swam into view, her eyes wide and shining with concern. Relief shot through him, immediately followed by guilt; he didn’t want Clarke here, not when it meant that he would have to watch while Cage hurt her and eventually killed them both.

Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, and he tried to focus again, blinking blearily at Clarke. Her mouth was moving, but he was having a hard time hearing what she was saying.

“What?” he tried, but even his own voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. He frowned, lips going thin. “Clarke?” He hated how weak he sounded, how scared his voice was, but relief flickered across Clarke’s face, almost too quick for him to see, and she moved her hands from his shoulders to his face, cupping it gently.

“Bellamy, can you hear me?” Her voice finally sounded, clear through the buzzing in his head.

He jerked out a nod, head bobbing between her hands. His jaw trembled and he clenched his teeth, knowing that Clarke could feel the minute movement under her fingers.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah, I can hear you.”

“Good,” Clarke said calm and steady. “That’s good.” She seemed to realize that she was still holding Bellamy’s face in her hands and abruptly dropped let go, tangling her fingers together on her lap. “You’ve been waking up disoriented for a while now, but you always fell back asleep pretty quickly.”

“I have?” Bellamy frowned and then studied Clarke, looking for signs of bruises. “I didn’t…hurt you, did I?”

Clarke shook her head quickly. “No.”

“Good,” Bellamy echoed and then carefully eased himself against the wall in his usual position. “How long has it been?”

“I don’t know,” Clarke said, eyes flicking to the camera in the corner, a quick reminder that someone was listening. “It’s hard to tell in here, but it’s been a while.”

Bellamy hummed and then said mildly, “That’s not a great sign.”

Clarke looked sharply at him. “Why? What has he been doing to you?” She winced a beat later, seeming to regret her question.

“He’s been playing with me,” Bellamy said, not really bothered. He was too tired to feel much of anything. “He’s keeping me in constant pain, but he doesn’t want to kill me.” He eyed Clarke, giving her a humorless smile. “Well, maybe he does, now that you’re here.”

Clarke’s throat bobbed and she threw him a quick glare. “Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true,” Bellamy said with a shrug. “The sooner we both realize that this isn’t going to end well, the better.”

“We’re not going to die in here, Bellamy,” Clarke said, eyes shining with determination. “I’m not going to let it happen.”

“You’re capable of many things, but you can’t stop death,” Bellamy said.

“I can try,” Clarke muttered. 

Bellamy eyed her again and cracked a smile; he had _missed_ Clarke.

They fell into silence, and a moment later, Bellamy carefully reached up to rub at the back of his head, fingers searching out the tender bump against his skull; he had been trying to keep an eye on it, marking its progress each day. The swelling had gone down, and his head didn’t hurt as much as it used to, which he took as a good sign.

“Did you hit your head?” Clarke asked, sharp eyes following his movement.

Bellamy dropped his hand. “Which time?”

It was meant to be a joke, but it fell flat and Clarke’s eyes widened and she jerked forward, physically turning his head so she had a better angle to run her fingers along his scalp.

He let her do it, even though at this point the concussion was beginning to heal; he wasn’t sure how that had happened, especially when he kept using his head as a battering ram.

Clarke made a humming noise, low in the back of her throat, and let go of him, leaning back. She moved so that she was sitting next to him, close enough that their shoulders were brushing. Bellamy gave her a sidelong look and tried not to lean into her; he had missed the calming touch of family, but now wasn’t the time to be seeking comfort.

“It seems to be fine,” Clarke said reluctantly, “but head wounds are always tricky—”

“So you’ve said,” Bellamy cut in. “I remember all the times you talked about it, during the Dropship days.”

“You remember that?”

Bellamy snorted, almost feeling like his old self. “Don’t sound so surprised; it’s all you’d talk about when you weren’t bossing us around.”

Clarke was quiet and when Bellamy looked at her, he couldn’t tell what she was thinking even as she stared at him with an unwavering gaze. He shifted under her eyes, suddenly wondering if he was squandering his time with her, talking about stupid and meaningless things.

His heart skipped a beat and then began to pound, heavy and insistent, and he tried to make his mouth work. He needed Clarke to know how much she meant to him, how none of the 100 would have survived this long without her, how _he_ needed her and—

The door clanged open, cutting off Bellamy’s frantic thoughts off at the neck as they both jerked around to face the newest threat.

Riggs was standing in the doorway, flanked by two more soldiers; Clarke was clearly thought to be more of a threat than just Bellamy alone. But that was how it should be, and Bellamy was vaguely proud of her and the power she wielded with just her presence.

“Get up,” Riggs said, voice loud in the small space. “Cage is ready.”

Bellamy’s heart jumped into his mouth and he exchanged a quick look with Clarke. Some of his old fight was starting to bubble throughout his body, and his hands began to tremble against his lap. It had already been determined that he wouldn’t get anywhere if he went up against the Mountain Men and would only end up more hurt, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to bash Riggs’ face in, this time not stopping after re-breaking his nose.

He eyed Riggs, lips pulling back over his teeth, as his legs tensed and fists curled.

Riggs’ eyes widened as Bellamy’s intention became clear, and his hand went down to his belt, touching the stun baton at his hip.

“Bellamy,” Clarke said, breaking through the fog clouding Bellamy’s mind. He startled as her hand found his, enveloping his clenched fist.

He forced his gaze away from Riggs’ and turned to face her again. They were so close, breaths mingling with each other’s, that he could see the little flecks of color in her blue eyes.

She shook her head. “Don’t.”

He wanted to demand _why_. Fighting is what they did—what he did.

“Yeah, Bellamy,” Riggs said. “Don’t do anything stupid for your girlfriend. You don’t have much skin left to punish.” There was a sneer in the soldier’s voice, and when Bellamy jerked around to growl at him, Riggs’ throat bobbed and some of the bravado drained out of him.

Clarke’s hand tightened around Bellamy’s and he forced himself to swallow down his temper. He trusted Clarke with his life and if she was asking him to wait, to rein himself in, than he would.

He slowly nodded, mouth twisting as he struggled into a kneeling position. Using both his hands, even his broken one, Bellamy shoved himself up. His toes curled against the floor and he swayed, swallowing the nausea that rose up his throat.

Clarke appeared at his shoulder and threw an arm out to steady him. He accepted it gratefully, but still tried not to lean on her too much; he would knock her over if he did.

Bellamy knew what was waiting for them, but with Clarke by his side, he felt better than he had in days.

.

.

Clarke’s heart was pounding against her ribs, but she was trying to keep it together for Bellamy’s sake. He looked worse the longer she had studied him in the cell, and now, with him strapped to some sort of sick hospital table, he wasn’t even going to have a chance to recover from his previous injuries.

She was tied to a chair in the corner, close enough to be in Bellamy’s eye line, but too far too actually help him. Not that she could really do anything, and that fact alone was enough to make her tremble with fury. 

She tugged at the ropes around her wrists, pinning her to the chair, but they were snug and only bit into her skin, rubbing the soft skin raw. Her feet were free, but that wasn’t going to help her.

Looking across the room at Bellamy’s naked body, muscles tensing under the lights shining on him, she knew that she was luckier than him; she still had her clothes, but she didn’t expect that to last long.

She tried to swallow down the terror thrumming through her as she thought about what Cage was going to do to her after he had finished with Bellamy. It was cowardly to be worrying about herself when Bellamy had been dealing with this for days all by himself, but she couldn’t stop herself.

Her breath was starting to quicken, even as she stubbornly told herself to stop, to breathe normally and try to help Bellamy. She dug her fingers into the metal arms of her chair, pressing them hard until they began to throb, but even the slight pain wasn’t enough to make her traitorous body comply with her mind.

“Hey.” Bellamy’s voice sounded, loud in the heavy silence of the lab. It broke into Clarke’s frantic thoughts, stopping them before they got out of hand. “It’s going to be okay, Clarke.”

She forced herself to focus, blink away the images of torn and bloody skin while Cage grinned manically in the background. Bellamy was staring at her, dark eyes boring into hers. He didn’t look afraid. He looked calm, despite his flayed skin and broken bones.

He gave her a small smile and Clarke swallowed, carefully returning it.

“It’s actually not going to be okay,” Cage announced as he breezed into the room, white lab coat flapping out behind him.

Bellamy’s face, the one thing Cage hadn’t seemed to touch with his scalpel, smoothed out into a blank mask and he leaned back against the table, staring at the ceiling. Clarke could almost see the mental walls Bellamy was throwing up in an attempt to protect himself from Cage.

Her fear and anger were at war with each other, but anger was beginning to win and her teeth clenched tight, grinding loudly, as she glared at Cage, but he wasn’t paying attention to her yet.

A giddy smile was played along Cage’s imperfect lips and he almost danced over to Bellamy, looming over him.

“Hello, again, Bellamy,” he said and reached down to brush Bellamy’s dark hair back.

“Don’t touch him!” Clarke snapped, unable to stop herself. She pulled against the ropes again, straining forward with her whole body.

Cage removed his hand and straightened, looking over to her. His eyes darkened as he stared at her. “How are you going to stop me? There’s _nothing_ you can do, Clarke. You’re here to watch, just like I did when you killed my people.”

Clarke lost her breath, mouth slackening at his words. Was he going to kill Bellamy? _Now_? It was too soon. She wasn’t ready. This couldn’t be happening—

Cage barked out a laugh and flapped a hand at her. “Oh, calm down. I’m not killing him yet.”

Clarke’s mouth trembled as she sucked in a lungful of air, legs like jelly. 

“Speaking of that…” Cage murmured, frown appearing as he studied Bellamy, who had gone strangely quiet during this exchange.

Clarke watched with helpful rage as Cage ran his hands down Bellamy’s torso, checking the different cuts and slashes until he stopped at the brand, burned into Bellamy’s hip. It was clearly infected, and without treatment could cause an early death for Bellamy. 

“Willis,” he said, called to a second man that had entered without Clarke even noticing. “I need some antibiotics for this.”

Clarke was silent as Cage treated the burn, feeling a small trickle of relief; it was the very least that Cage could do for him, and in the back of her head, she realized that it was probably the last time he would do anything to help Bellamy recover. What would be the point when his endgame was death for both of them?

“Alright,” Cage finally said. He shot a look at Clarke, a cruel gleam in his eyes. “Let’s get started.”

The next few hours passed by agonizingly slow. Clarke’s body ached from how she had tensed during each new cut Cage added to the patchwork he had already left on Bellamy’s skin. Her eyes stung from the salty tears that had begun to trickle down her cheeks at Bellamy’s muffled groans.

The floor around Cage’s feet was pooled with dark blood that had been slipping out of Bellamy, and even after everything she had seen and knew, Clarke almost couldn’t believe that a person could spare that much blood.

She was trying to stay calm for Bellamy’s sake, but she wasn’t even sure that he was all there. His eyes, when they found hers, were glassy and dazed with pain, and his mouth was pinched tight in an attempt to keep his screams in his throat. It was likely that he had escaped into the recesses of his mind without even realizing he was doing it, but Clarke wasn’t going to ask him to be present, not for her.

When Clarke wasn’t sure how much more she could take, it suddenly ended; Cage slipped on the blood, arms swinging wildly, narrowing missing Willis with his scalpel. The other man yelped and flailed away, putting as much space as possible between him and Cage. 

“I think that’ll be all for today,” Cage said, carefully putting down his weapon and turning to Clarke. Splatters of blood were speckled over his neck and chest, but he didn’t seem to care or notice.

He paced closer to Clarke, crouching down so they were level. A wide grin was stretching across his lips as he studied her face. She wasn’t sure what he saw, but the horror in her chest was getting too hard to contain and she couldn’t stop the trails of tears from continuing down her cheeks.

Cage reached forward and swiped at the wet streaks with his thumb. She jerked her head away, but he only laughed.

“What are you going to do now, Clarke?” he asked lowly. “I’ve taken something that you care about—someone you love is spilling their blood for _you_.” He paused, eyes searching her face. “But I suppose it’s not the first time you’ve made your people bleed for you.”

Clarke flinched, pressing her back against the chair, trying to pull away, but Cage only leaned closer, teeth gleaming in the light as he sneered at her.

“Bellamy won’t last much longer, and then what will you do?”

“Yes, he will,” Clarke insisted, finally finding her voice. “He’s been fighting for his life since the moment he came down, and it’s going to take a lot more than just _you_ to kill him.”

Cage shook his head. “I’m not the one killing him—you are, Clarke. It’s because of you that he’s on that table.”

Clarke’s jaw clicked and she jerked forward, jarring the chair with her movement, but Cage only let out a too loud laugh, pushing away to avoid her.

“Don’t listen to him, Clarke.” Bellamy’s voice was low and gravely, but surprisingly strong.

Both Cage and Clarke froze, eyes finding Bellamy as he stared at them from the table. His face was slick with sweat and he was almost boneless against the restraints, but he looked lucid, more than he had any right to be after what Cage had just put him through.

“I’m not bleeding because of you,” Bellamy continued. He wasn’t looking at Cage; his eyes were only on Clarke, holding her in place. “I’ve bled for you, but I’d bleed for any of our people, you know that, and this...isn’t your fault.” 

“Shut up,” Cage snapped, the cruel amusement sliding off his face as he glared at Bellamy. His body was twisted away from Clarke now, stiff as a rod. 

“What’s happening is because of _me_ ,” Bellamy said, ignoring Cage. “I was there with you, Clarke, and I didn't stop you from pulling that lever.”

“Shut up!” Cage stood up, hands clenching into fists. He wasn’t paying attention to Clarke anymore, focus only on Bellamy.

“We killed those people,” Bellamy said, pain lacing his voice. Clarke didn’t know if it was from Cage’s knife or what they had done months ago. “And we’re paying for it now.”

“ _Shut up_!” Cage roared, spittle flying from his mouth as he stormed over to Bellamy, raising a hand.

“Wait!” Clarke yelled, lurching desperately against the ropes holding her. “Don’t—”

“Do it,” Bellamy sneered, cutting across Clarke’s pleading, as he stared up at Cage.

“Bellamy, stop it,” Clarke snapped, furious at herself for letting Bellamy talk, for letting him do what he always did. She could see the anger singing through Cage and didn’t know how he was going to let it out, but she didn’t think Bellamy would survive another round under his knife.

“C’mon, Cage,” Bellamy said, glaring up at the other man. He wasn’t even looking at Clarke anymore, now that he had gotten what he wanted. “Hit me. Cut me. _Do something!_ ” He screamed the last words, suddenly straining against the straps and jerking his head up, neck muscles going taut.

Cage flinched back from Bellamy, whose teeth were bared into a snarl and eyes were burning.

For a brief moment, Clarke thought Cage was scared and even when he threw a look over his shoulder at her, sitting helpless in the corner, she could _see_ a glimmer of fear in his eyes, but it disappeared a second later, swallowed whole by a manic gleam again. He let out a laugh as he reached forward and patted Bellamy’s head like a dog.

“You had me, Bellamy,” he said, laughter still dancing long his words. “You had me going, but I know your game.” He turned to Clarke, including her in the conversation. “He doesn’t want me to hurt you.”

She already knew this, figured it out almost as soon as Bellamy started talking. It’s what he did. Always the big damn hero, thinking with his stupid heart instead of his head.

Cage tapped a finger against his lip, eyes going from Bellamy to Clarke. “What do you think, Bellamy? Should I cut something off Clarke? An eye—no, I want her to see. Maybe her tongue?”

Bellamy choked, arms and legs spasming against the table.

“Fuck you,” Clarke snapped, fear rising in her throat again. 

Cage took a slow step towards her, holding her eyes with his. “What about a finger or two? I could do that. It would be _easy_.”

Clarke’s lips trembled and without meaning to, she was beginning to dig her boots into the floor, as if she could find some purchase against the stone and stand up.

The door suddenly flung open and Riggs scurried in, out of breath.

Clarke watched his face pale as he took in the scene, eyes lingering on Bellamy’s bloody body, but she was able to breathe again with Cage’s attention going to the soldier.

“What is it?” Cage snapped.

Riggs swallowed, forcing his eyes from Bellamy to Cage. “We need you. There’s been some movement outside.”

Cage made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “Probably animals.”

“Yes, sir, but we need you to check it out all the same.”

Cage’s eyes flicked to Clarke. “Until next time, Clarke.” He turned to Willis. “Clean them up and get them back to the cell.”

.

.

Bellamy was surprised that he could walk, mostly unassisted, after what Cage had just done to him. Clarke seemed surprised too; she was practically glued to his side, waiting for him to collapse with ready hands.

They were being led back to their cell with Willis leading and a nameless soldier trailing behind them. With only two enemies, it seemed like a good opportunity to run, but Bellamy knew without even looking at himself that he wouldn’t make it far. Willis had cleaned off the blood and even stitched some of the deeper cuts, something that Bellamy wasn’t sure Cage actually wanted, but it wasn’t enough.

“You’re a fucking _idiot_ ,” Clarke hissed at his side, hand digging into skin as she tightened her grip on his arm. He was still naked, stripped down to his boxers, but at this point, Bellamy had stopped caring.

“Sorry,” Bellamy offered, glancing down at her.

She jerked her head to glare up at him, practically vibrating with pent up anger. He attempted a smile, but his dry lips cracked and he winced.

“Why’d you do that, Bellamy? He already hurt you _so much_ —I swear he was going to kill you!”

“You know why,” Bellamy said, already tired of this conversation. He stared at Willis’ back, trying to focus on something other than Clarke’s trembling anger.

“Because of me? I can handle it, Bellamy. What I can’t handle is what he’s doing to you!” Her voice cracked and when he looked back down, trying to catch her eyes, she had ducked her head, hair covering most of her face.

A pang of guilt ran through him; he didn’t want this, hadn’t meant to hurt her. It hadn’t really occurred to him that Clarke was going to suffer from watching Cage torture him. He just knew that when Cage had gone to Clarke, leaning over her, making her seem too small, he couldn’t let Cage touch her. The thought of watching Cage slicing into her, making her bleed, was too much, but Bellamy supposed that’s why Clarke was so upset with him; it’s what _she_ had been enduring for the past few hours.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, and Clarke looked up at him. Her lips tightened, but she nodded.

“Bellamy—listen,” her voice dropped and her eyes were gleaming with a sudden urgency, making his arms tense in response. 

He ducked down closer to her, body hunching uncomfortably. 

Her eyes were flicking around, making sure that Willis and the soldier’s attention wasn't fully on them, before she looked at him again. His heart picked up its pace. It became abruptly clear that Clarke had a plan because, unlike him, she wasn’t an idiot.

“Monty built me a bug.” She slid her hand into the inside of her coat, fiddling with it for a moment before pulling out a small hexagon shaped chip, like something they used to have on the ark. “Murphy found this when he was with Jaha, wherever that was.” She kept her hand cupped around the chip, keeping it hidden from the soldier and Willis.

“What’s it do?” Bellamy asked lowly. He wanted to demand how she could’ve been so stupid to put her trust into the tiny chip, but there wasn’t time for that.

“Monty said we just need to get it into a computer and he’ll do the rest.”

“Meaning?” Bellamy said, eyes flicking down the hall. They were almost to the cell, and were quickly running out of time for a camera-free discussion. 

“Meaning that he can disable the weapons and take control of the cameras throughout the mountain,” Clarke said, hand tightening around Bellamy’s arm. “He’s going to help us escape.”

Bellamy shook his head. “That’s great, Clarke, just…there’s the small problem of us constantly being watched when we’re not in the cell. There’s no way we can get to a computer to plant that thing."

“I won’t be able to,” Clarke said, easily agreeing with a quick nod of her head. “But you will.”

She passed him the chip, pressing it firmly against his palm. His hand automatically curled around it, even as he opened his mouth to protest. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he hissed. “Your entire plan rests on me being able to get this thing into a computer when Cage isn’t paying attention?”

Clarke’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t have a lot of time to come up with anything better—”

“And you still gave yourself up to Cage?” Bellamy said, talking over her. “ _Clarke_ …”

Her fingertips dug into his skin and from the way her mouth was thinning, Bellamy could see that she was getting ready to argue with him, to shut him down with a few well-placed barbs, but they weren’t in Arkadia or the Dropship; this was the mountain and they were its prisoners. Things were different here.

“I wasn’t going to leave you here,” Clarke said finally. They were almost to the cell; Bellamy could see the unmarked door from the corner of his eyes. “Bellamy, I wouldn’t do that. You’re too important.”

Despite his sheer disbelief at Clarke’s recklessness—that was usually his role—a trickle of warmth shot through his body at her words.

“But you’re _more_ important,” Bellamy began, but never got the chance to finish as the radio on the soldier behind them buzzed, low and full of static. He couldn’t hear what was being said on the other end, but a second later the soldier called, “Hold up.”

In front of them, Willis slowed, turning around with a small frown on his face. He was trying not to look at Bellamy, but his eyes kept flicking towards Bellamy, who made sure to grin widely at the other man.

“Cage wants Clarke in his office,” the soldier continued. He paced forward, circling around Bellamy and reaching for Clarke.

Bellamy tore his eyes from Willis, glaring at the soldier and pulling Clarke close. She stumbled into him as he shook his head, wordlessly telling the soldier to _fuck right off_ , but a quick second later Clarke carefully untangled herself from him.

“I’ll be back,” she said, allowing the soldier to grip her shoulders and begin to pull her away. Her eyes flicked down to Bellamy’s clenched hand, tight around the chip. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Clarke,” he started, shaking his head as fear gnawed at him. He tried to hold her eyes, but the soldier was taking her back the way they had come and quickly disappeared down the hall.

Bellamy’s hands trembled as he raced through the possibilities of _why_ Cage wanted her; none of them were good. But Clarke wanted him to plant the chip, an opportunity had fallen into their laps, and he wasn’t going to waste it, especially if Clarke was going to suffer as the distraction. Like it or not, Cage would put his entire focus onto her, and Bellamy would have a little more freedom to somehow find a computer for Monty.

The helplessness of his situation rolled over him, and Bellamy swayed. He staggered over to the wall, leaning his shoulder against it. This plan was _fucked_ , and it hadn’t even started—

“Are you okay…?” Willis’ voice broke through Bellamy’s jumbled thoughts.

Bellamy jerked his head around to look at the other man, who was standing a little ways from him both hands outstretched. A concerned look was etched into his face, but it was easy to see the bright fear in his eyes; he was afraid of Bellamy.

Bellamy blinked at him. Willis was a weasel and had stood aside for Cage without so much as a protest about what was being done to Bellamy, but he wasn’t a soldier and wouldn’t put up much of a fight.

Bellamy swallowed a grin and suddenly coughed, hunching his body as if in pain, which wasn’t hard to pretend.

“I can’t…breathe!” he gasped out, making his eyes wide. He clawed at his throat, and shoved his back against the wall. 

“Oh, shit,” Willis called out, panic thick in his voice, as he came towards Bellamy, who was ready for him.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!   
> I almost didn't have this ready to post for today...so parts of it might be garbage and rushed.   
> (also only a week until season 7!!)


	8. my head is an animal

[8]

Clarke was shivering but trying to hide it. She clenched her hands into tight fists, wincing as her nails bite into the soft skin of her palms. She didn’t want to show just how afraid she was, but it wasn’t quite working, and she could feel Riggs’ curious eyes on her rigid back as he led the way to Cage.

Clarke threw a look over her shoulder, watching as he flinched when her eyes found his. Riggs frowned at her and then went back to ignoring her.

He was young, Clarke realized, just like her or any of the 100. He was trying to survive, just like any of them, but it was hard to feel sympathy when he was willingly leading her towards Cage, who offered nothing but suffering.

But…maybe it’s what she deserved—she had killed his people and this was retribution for that.

Clarke turned that thought over in her mind, careful and silent, and then dismissed it; while she might regret killing Mt. Weather’s people, she couldn’t turn back time, and now all she wanted was for her people to survive. 

“This is it,” Riggs said, and Clarke focused on her surroundings again. 

They were already at Cage’s office. Clarke’s stomach swooped and she gritted her teeth as Riggs ushered her inside the room.

Cage was standing at his desk, staring at multiple computer screens. The screens were throwing a pale blue light on his already white face, making him look more like a monster than a man, but, Clarke supposed, that’s what he was.

He looked up, eyes burning as he stared at Clarke. Whatever he had seen on his computers wasn’t good.

“Come here,” he demanded, but didn’t wait for Riggs to prod her forward. Instead, he circled his desk and marched towards Clarke, grabbing a fistful of her shirt, practically dragging her with him as he went back to his desk.

He shoved her against the hard edge of the wooden desk, pushing her head forward, forcing her to look at the screens that blinked up at them.

For a moment, all Clarke could feel was his fingertips digging into her skull and his other hand pressing tight against her back, holding her in place. She was completely at his mercy. The air in her lungs hitched and she struggled to breathe; she wanted—needed someone, _Bellamy_. She didn’t want to be alone.

“Tell me, Clarke,” Cage hissed. His breath swirled against her skin, prickling at the back of her neck, making it hard for her to focus on his words. “What the _hell_ is that?”

Clarke blinked away the unwanted tears of frustration at her position, and tried to concentrate on what he was showing her.

But she didn’t have to look close to know what it was.

The computer screen was grainy, but she could still see that at the edge of the forest, close to Mt. Weather’s entrance, was thick, wooden spikes buried deep into the ground. At the top of each spike was a helmet or coat or weapon, all from Mt. Weather, taken during the last conflict. 

It was a warning, nonviolent, but effective.

A smile inched along Clarke’s lips as she stared at it.

Behind her, Cage was vibrating with barely suppressed rage; he had thought that Mt. Weather had dealt with the Grounder problem already, and this was clearly the work of the Grounders—of Lexa.

A thrill of hope blossomed through Clarke, quick and warm. She hadn’t fully known what Lexa would do, if she would even help, but _this_ meant that Lexa hadn’t betrayed her to the mountain.

“So, Clarke?” Cage snapped, his hand on her back digging harder into her spine. “What’s going on?” He abruptly removed his hands from her head and back and placed them roughly on her shoulders, spinning her around to face him.

Clarke swallowed a gasp of pain as her lower back hit the desk and she was faced with Cage. His hair was hanging in thick strands around his face, unkempt and greasy, and his eyes were dark, boring into her. He looked like he wanted to crack her open and shift through her until he found what he wanted.

Clarke’s hands were placed on the desk, holding her body upright, but she carefully released the edge of the wood and let them hang loosely by her hips. The fear that was always there, brewing just below the surface, started to bubble again.

She had known from the start that this plan only worked if everyone was in motion at the same time, and so far it seemed to be going smoothly: the Grounders were outside, Bellamy had the chip, and Clarke was the distraction, giving Bellamy the time he needed to plant the chip.

But.

Standing face to face with Cage, rage and insanity at war in his eyes, Clarke realized that there was a flaw in her plan.

She was going to die.

.

.

Bellamy’s knuckles were still stained red with Willis’ blood as he carefully made his way through the halls.

Willis had been easy to take down. The man had never fought a day in his life and was already scared to death of Bellamy. It had been simple to fake a problem and then twist around to smash his fist into Willis’ surprised face, knocking him out.

It hadn’t been quite so easy to drag Willis’ boneless body the short distance to the cell. Bellamy had used the keycard on Willis’ belt to get the door open, keeping it in hand for later. He had shoved the other man inside after taking his clothes and dressing for the first time in days.

The cell wasn’t going to hold Willis for long; someone watching the camera would eventually realize that the limp body inside the cell wasn’t Bellamy and then it would only be a matter of time before they found him, skulking around the halls.

But Bellamy intended on using his freedom to find a fucking computer and get the chip placed, like Clarke had asked him to do.

It was strangely quiet in the mountain, but Bellamy supposed that was because he and Clarke had killed off the majority of their people.

Guilt churned inside him, heavy in his stomach, but Bellamy couldn’t change the past, no matter how much he might regret it, and now the only thing that mattered was surviving long enough to save Clarke.

He didn’t exactly expect to live for long after this, and he was oddly okay with that. Maybe that was because his body ached and he was ready for the pain to stop, or maybe it was because he figured his life for Clarke’s a fair trade.

A trickle of worry eased its way down his back, and he wondered what Cage was doing to Clarke. He didn’t have to think very hard about the possibilities; he had lived through most of them in the last few days.

He clenched his teeth tight against the anger that boiled in his chest, clashing with his worry. Cage had tried to beat Bellamy into a shadow of himself, a wraith that would soon disappear. He had wanted Bellamy on his knees begging for life, and he wanted the same from Clarke, but something that Cage didn’t seem to understand was that both Bellamy and Clarke would never do that; they were from space, born and expected to die among the stars, and against all odds had defied that fate when they were thrown to the ground. They survived that too, and at least Clarke, was going to continue to _live_.

In the space of a breath, Bellamy realized that he was going to kill Cage. He would protect Clarke, no matter the cost.

A shiver rippled through him, making him shake. He pressed his bare feet against the tiles, trying to ground himself; Willis’ boots hadn’t been big enough to take, leaving him with only dark pants and a buttoned shirt.

Killing Cage had always been a possibility, one that Bellamy had always entertained. It was just that, after taking so many lives already, Bellamy figured he was slowly nearing a point of no return: killing for survival and clinging to his humanity or killing for pleasure and losing himself to the monster that lived inside of him. 

But Cage was different. He was a broken and cruel creature, disguised as a human. He was going to kill Clarke and Bellamy, and wouldn’t stop there.

Maybe Bellamy was just telling himself that so that the fresh blood on his hands wouldn’t scare him when he tried to sleep.

Bellamy roughly shook his head, throwing the thoughts away with the movement; he needed to focus, to pretend that he wasn’t a murderer for a second.

Up ahead was a closed door, one of many he had already passed. 

He came to a stop near it, hugging the wall with his back, wincing as the bruises along his spine stung. The chip clasped in his fist, hard and tight. He tried to think of a better way to check for computers inside, but the fact was there was no other way for him to do it other than to physically check by opening the door.

“This is so stupid,” he muttered. He let his chin drop down to his chest as he squeezed his eyes shut, counting silently under his breath, before taking a purposefully step towards the door.

The solid door mocked him as he scanned Willis’ card to unlock the door. He grimaced as his broken fingers tightened around the doorknob, and tried to ignore the tension that danced along his shoulders as he carefully opened the door.

It was dark, but Bellamy could see enough to know that there was no one waiting inside. Instead there was blue and white lights glowing from a row of computers that sat on several desks.

Hot breath whooshed out of him and Bellamy pushed his way in, shutting the door behind him. He paused on the threshold, looking around to make sure that he really was alone.

The room was similar to the one from before, the one that he and Clarke had killed the people of Mt. Weather in. Bellamy didn’t know if that was an ominous sign or not.

He moved across the room, trying not to limp before practically falling down in one of the empty chairs. The computer facing him was blinking, blank and silent except for the quiet hum coming from it. 

Bellamy uncurled his hand, eyeing the chip resting on his palm. There was an indentation in his skin from how hard he had been holding it. Bellamy squinted at the infinity sign printed on the chip; he didn’t know what it meant, but he hoped that it would bring them luck.

Bellamy’s eyes flicked from the chip to the computer, suddenly unsure how he was supposed put the chip inside the machine. He had never been good with things like this, not like Raven or Monty.

His heart thumped at the thought of his friends; he missed them all, especially O. He wondered where she was, if she was okay. He knew that Lincoln would keep her safe, but Lincoln wasn’t her big brother.

Bellamy hissed out a breath and shook his head; he needed to stop.

“Okay,” he said, staring hard at the screen. He carefully pinched the chip between his forefinger and thumb and, using his broken hand, he lightly touched the side of the computer, fingers searching for somewhere to insert the chip.

His search yielded nothing and a growing frustration began to twirl inside his chest; he didn’t have much time and the longer he spent looking for where to put the damn thing, the more danger Clarke was in.

He resolutely pushed Clarke from his mind; she wouldn’t want him thinking about her when he needed to focus on the mission, on the one thing that was supposed to save them.

Privately, he still couldn’t believe she had put her whole faith into the tiny thing. If they both made it out of this, he was going to sit her down and have a serious talk about how she couldn’t do things like this; as far as he was concerned, that was _his_ job—because it wouldn’t matter as much if he died.

Abruptly, there was a faint whirring sound and the chip in his hand suddenly glowed white and then sprouted small legs, thin and swirling like black ink.

“What the _fuck_!” Bellamy bit out, almost dropping the thing. His hand trembled, but the legs—wires—continued to sway, almost like they were dancing underwater. Carefully, Bellamy brought the chip closer to the computer; something had triggered the chip, and the only new element was his proximity to the computer.

The closer he brought the chip, the more rigid the wires got, and Bellamy was suddenly sure that he had somehow managed to do the right thing. A damn miracle as far as he was concerned.

The chip began to vibrate against his fingertips, as if it was trying to escape, and carefully Bellamy released the chip.

It flew from his hand, smacking against the computer screen with a faint metallic _ting_. Bellamy watched with wide eyes as it crawled its way across the computer, disappearing somewhere behind the whole thing. 

A second later, the blank screen flickered and images began to blur across it, too fast for Bellamy to see and comprehend.

He wanted to wait, to see if Monty had gained control of the system, but the urge to find Clarke was too strong, and he stood up, grimacing as his stiff legs screamed in protest; it had been easy to forget the pain that lingered in the grooves of his skin when hope was starting to ease its way into his veins, but it was still there, heavy and thick.

He just hoped that his body would hold until he got Clarke out of the mountain.

.

.

Cage’s knuckles hit Clarke’s cheek, splitting the skin and knocking her to the ground.

She huffed out a pained breath, rolling away from Cage’s feet, but he easily followed her and kicked her heavily. His boot hit her side, throwing her to the floor again.

With her bloody cheek pressed against the cold ground, Clarke wondered if this was it; Cage was unhinged, standing over her, screaming indistinguishable words at her.

Her continued refusal to tell him what was happening outside his walls had flipped a switch in him, letting out the hidden monster.

“Tell me!” he roared, stooping down and plucking her up as if she weighed nothing before he slammed her to her feet. 

The force of it rippled up her legs, but she wasn’t given a chance to feel that ache before he spun her around to face him, and then wrapped his hands around her throat, cutting off her air supply.

Clarke let out a soundless gasp and clawed at his hands, gaping at him.

His eyes were wide and his teeth were bared. “What’s happening, Clarke? I know this is you—the Grounders would never be brave enough for this.”

Clarke abandoned Cage’s hands and went for his face, too close to hers. Her nails cut into his soft cheeks, and he howled as she tore at his exposed eyes.

He let go of her, and she crumbled, hacking and gasping for breath. Her survival instinct was yelling at her to move, to get to the door and _run_.

With a blurry vision and air that still wasn’t moving into her lungs yet, she pushed herself up and started to stagger towards the glass doors, desperate to get out.

But she didn’t make it very far.

Cage’s arms were suddenly around her, pulling her to his chest and lifting her off her feet.

She let out a hoarse scream and kicked out her booted feet.

Panic was beginning to set in, fast and dense, clouding almost all her senses. All she knew was that if she didn’t get away from him, he was going to kill her. It wouldn’t matter that he had promised a slow death, one that came after Bellamy’s, he was too far gone to realize that his plan for revenge was unraveling.

His hands dug into her, hard enough to bruise, as he threw her across the room.

Clarke hit the desk, crashing into the computers with her body. They fell to the ground and she followed them, crushing them beneath her.

Coughing, breath still elusive, Clarke rolled off the broken glass and plastic, feeling it snap and crunch under her.

Sharp pain shot across her stomach and chest where she had hit the computers. Her fingers scrambled against the floor as she struggled to find a grip to heave herself up, because if there was one thing that she understood in her panic induced haze, it was that if she stayed curled on the ground, Cage would find it much easier to end her life.

“You bitch!” Cage was on her in seconds, kicking her onto her back so that she was staring up at him.

Spittle flew out of his mouth, and Clarke wondered how much longer this was going to last. It felt like he had been beating her for hours, but the reality was that it had probably only been minutes.

Regret and shame clouded Clarke’s muddled thoughts. Not just from her past actions, but also for what she had become—what Cage and the rest of the Mountain Men had become. Earth, the ground, was supposed to be _the_ dream. It was supposed to mean peace.

She could feel hot blood trickling down the side of her head from a cut in her hairline, making red trails down her skin and dripping to the floor, but she couldn’t lift her hand to check to see how bad it was because a second later, Cage joined her on the ground, pressing one knee onto her torso.

Her ribs screamed as he grinded his knee into her, pinning her in place as he hovered over her, holding a knife in a white knuckled grip.

In a vague sort of way, Clarke recognized the knife; she had seen it strapped to Bellamy’s hip for months and had even watched him carve a small B into the handle, marking it as his.

Blood was pulsing through Clarke, making her heart pound against her ribcage, but as she stared up at Cage, he was abruptly calm as he loomed over her. 

His tongue darted out, licking at his lips, and he raked his free hand through his hair.

“I should have realized,” he said, voice husky after his screams. “You wouldn’t have just given yourself up to me.” He leaned over her, lightly touching the blade to her bobbing throat. “That’s not who you are. I just thought you cared about your people more than about beating me.”

Clarke pressed her lips together, pushing down her terror; there was no place for it here.

“Here’s what I’m going to do,” he continued. “I’m going to turn on the acid fog, and we’ll see how long the Grounders last against that. With them dead, I’m going to send missiles to your camp and I will wipe out the last of the Sky People.” He paused, teeth gleaming as he grinned. “Well, there’ll be two left. But you and Bellamy aren’t going to last long now. I think I’ve had my fun...it’s time to end this.”

He pressed the knife harder into her skin, drawing a line of warm blood to the surface. “I want you to die knowing that I won, that you’ve just signed the death of your people."

Clarke knew it was coming, had known it for months, but to hear Cage say it so calmly was something she hadn’t prepared for. Her hands were frozen on either side of her; she was mindful of the knife pressed to her skin, knowing that one sudden move could kill her.

“Cage, no. My people—”

Cage ignored her, pressing his knee down harder, pushing the breath from her lungs. “When I’m done with you, Bellamy is next.”

_Bellamy._

Clarke’s heart was trying to fight its way out of her chest. Her jaw trembled and Cage’s knife bit into the soft skin under it. “Please, not Bellamy.” Hot tears were leaking out of her eyes, trickling down her cheeks and into her hair.

Cage shook his head, a frown deepening the lines in his face. “If I didn’t know better, Clarke, I’d say that you _love_ that boy.” He stared at her, a strange look on his face. “Love is a dangerous thing. Fragile and easily broken. It makes a person weak, just like you are now.” He made a disgusted sound, deep in his throat. “Look where your love got you.”

Cage believed every word he was saying, Clarke could see that much, but he had never cared about his people like Clarke did; he didn’t know what it meant to love, and he never would.

Pinching her mouth together, Clarke made herself relax against the hard floor. She had nothing to say to him.

But she wished she could talk to her mom, or Raven, or…Bellamy one last time. 

As if he could hear her thoughts, Cage offered her a small nod, “I’ll tell Bellamy you said goodbye.” It was only a façade of kindness coming from his mouth, and Clarke doubted he would say anything to Bellamy before killing him too.

Clarke closed her eyes. “May we meet again,” she murmured through numb lips.

There was a sudden and animalistic yell and Cage’s weight abruptly disappeared.

Clarke’s eyes snapped open and jerked her head around, trying to see what was happening, who had saved her.

She should have realized that Bellamy wouldn’t have listened to her. It had never been his style, but for once Clarke was grateful. 

Bellamy— _her Bellamy_ —broken and battered but alive, had somehow managed to find her and had thrown himself into Cage, knocking him off Clarke and saving her life once again.

He was straddling Cage, back hunched as he threw his fist into Cage’s face again and again.

Clarke rolled onto her stomach and pushed herself up. Her head was pounding and when she touched a finger to her throat, it came away wet with blood, but it was shallow; Cage hadn’t managed to finish the job.

Cage was surprised, frozen with the shock of being viciously attacked by Bellamy, but that was the only advantaged Bellamy had and he was going to quickly lose it. Clarke could see it in the way Cage was started to buck underneath Bellamy and how his hands were snapping out at Bellamy’s face, trying to push him away.

Clarke tore her eyes from the scuffle and scanned the floor for the dropped knife. It wasn’t far, and she staggered over to it, painfully stooping down to pluck it up.

With it gripped tight in her hand, she moved to Bellamy’s side.

She watched for a quick beat as Bellamy took out his terror and rage on Cage’s face. She watched as her friend slowly became a thing that neither of them knew or had ever wanted to be.

As much as she wanted Bellamy to just do it—kill Cage, she couldn’t give in to that voice.

“Get off him,” she said, wincing as her voice scrapped out of her throat.

It wasn’t very loud, but Bellamy heard and paused, fist raised over his head. His knuckles were torn and Cage’s blood was mingling with Bellamy’s, staining the grooves of his skin. He threw a look up at Clarke, silently questioning her.

She gave him a nod and watched the effort it took him to ease himself off Cage. She didn’t think it was completely because of his bruised body; she could see the fight, the reluctance, burning in Bellamy’s dark eyes.

He kicked Cage a final time with his bare foot and then moved to stand next to Clarke, a few feet away from where Cage lay on the ground.

“If we want to live in this world,” she said, addressing Cage, “we need to stop killing each other.”

The skin around his mouth was discolored and bruises were blooming across the rest of his face. His nose was bleeding and his cheek was cut from where Bellamy’s fist had met it, but he wasn’t defeated.

He sneered up at her. “What is this?” He carefully pushed himself into a sitting position. His eyes flicked warily from Bellamy to Clarke.

She didn’t look at Bellamy, but could feel the warmth from his body. With him at her side, it was enough to remind her of who she was.

She wasn’t some scared little girl that Cage could push around; she had never really been that person, even when fear had been so thick inside her, choking the air from her lungs. Being afraid was part of who she was, of who they all had to be in order to survive the ground, but she was more than her fear, more than the Commander of Death.

She was Clarke Griffin, leader of the 100, and she still believed in humanity, in the goodness of people. She _had_ to believe that.

“This,” Clarke finally said, “is your one and only chance.” She could feel Bellamy moving at her shoulder, wanting to question her decision. “You can put aside your differences, accept that you’ve lost and then leave this place.”

Cage snorted, blood spurting from his nose. He threw a sharp grin at her. “You think you’ve won? All you have is Bellamy Blake and a knife.”

Clarke’s mouth twitched. “That’s more than enough.”

“Clarke…” Bellamy whispered.

“But it’s not all I have,” Clarke said, ignoring Bellamy. “You wanted to know why the Grounders are outside. Here’s why: They’re here to take the mountain, and before you laugh, I’ve got a man inside. I’ve always had a man inside.” She glanced at Bellamy. His lips were thin and bloodless and his jaw was jumping from how hard he was clenching his teeth, but he gave her a short nod. “We’ve taken control of your system. The acid fog, your missiles, everything.”

Clarke gestured to the broken computers. “If you hadn’t thrown me into those, I’d be able to prove to you that I’m telling the truth. The gates are opening and my people are coming for me.”

Cage’s face was slowly morphing, his confidence giving way to fear and anger. He shoved himself off the ground, standing to face Bellamy and Clarke. “What’s to stop me from killing you both now? I can easily overpower you and take that knife back—”

“Just try it,” Bellamy snarled, arm going out and pushing Clarke behind him.

Clarke appreciated the gesture, but she shifted Bellamy’s arm away. “You can do that, Cage, but you and your people will die if you do. Is killing us worth that?”

Cage’s mouth worked as he chewed on his tongue, eyes flashing. “You won’t make it out of here alive.” He was tittering on the edge of defeat, not sure if he believed Clarke or not, but Clarke had nothing more to say.

She turned, putting a hand on Bellamy’s shoulder, tugging him with her. He resisted, tense under her palm. She honestly didn’t know how he was still standing, but this was Bellamy; he would go to hell and back for the 100, for _her_.

“Clarke, we’re not going to just leave him—?” Bellamy demanded. He hadn’t fully turned yet, keeping Cage in view.

“He’s finished,” Clarke said, confidant in her people even without knowing exactly where they were. She trusted Bellamy and everyone else to have done what they were supposed to, and with the Grounder army inside the mountain, they were in control now. Cage was finished and there was no point in staying.

Movement outside the office caught Clarke’s eye and she tensed, bringing up the knife in her hand, but it was just Riggs.

The glass doors burst open and the young soldier stumbled inside, flushed and sweaty. He froze as he took in the scene with quick eyes. His breath whistled out of him. He didn’t seem to know what to do, but Clarke didn’t blame him; this wasn’t a fight that he could win. His eyes went to Cage. “They’re inside the mountain.” 

“Riggs,” Bellamy said, focus redirected. He wasn’t looking at Cage anymore, but Clarke was. She might have stopped Bellamy from killing Cage, but she still wanted to see the look on his face when he realized that he was beaten.

His crooked mouth was curled into a grimace and there was a black gun in his hand, where he got it, Clarke didn’t know.

His eyes found hers, cruel and glinting with fury, and suddenly Clarke couldn’t breathe. He shifted his aim from Clarke to Bellamy, pointing it at Bellamy’s back and squeezed the trigger.

Clarke didn’t think.

All she knew was that Bellamy _wasn’t_ going to die. She clung to that thought—that promise, as she shoved Bellamy away with rough hands and felt the bullet hit her. 

She didn’t feel any pain, but her body was already reacting. Her legs gave out, sending her crumbling to the floor.

Her vision was blurring, and she could hear screaming, could feel someone touching her neck and face before disappearing, leaving her cold.

She tilted her head, watching as Bellamy threw Cage to the ground with more strength than he should have had. She watched, silent and helpless, as Bellamy stabbed the knife, his knife, the one that had been in her hand, into Cage’s throat.

She couldn’t hear if Cage made a sound when he died; she was too busy trying to hold onto the faint breath in her lungs.

It took her a moment to realize that Riggs was crouched near her, mouth open in soundless horror, with his hands pressing into her stomach.

She blinked up at him, trying to smile; if any of them wanted to live on Earth, than they needed to get used to the idea that they were all one people. Riggs, with his hands trying to stop the flow of blood, was just the beginning of that.

Her eyes slid closed, but something pressed against her cheek and she blinked them open again, and when she focused all she could see was Bellamy. He was mouthing her name over and over again, eyes dripping with tears and shining with panic.

“It’s okay.” She tried to say it aloud, but she didn’t think he heard, so instead, she managed to find his hand, brushing his knuckles with her fingers.

She wanted to hold his hand.

She was cold, so _coldcoldcold_ …

Her eyes closed again, and this time, they didn’t open again.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with this chapter. I feel like I always start my fics strong and just gradually get worse as it goes on, but whatever. I'm happy that I was able to get this posted today!
> 
> In other news, I just watched the season 7 premiere and I don't know what to tell you. I expect nothing and yet I'm still disappointed. I'm not gonna say much, in case people haven't watched it yet, but let's just say I need to prepare myself to be let down for the final season. 
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone reading! We've got one more chapter, so stay tuned.


	9. it's a heartbeat away

[9] 

Clarke could feel her heart beating, heavy and persistent, against her ribcage. She hadn’t expected that. She certainly hadn’t expected to wake up ever again.

She had thought that when the bullet hit her that she was done, that the fight was over, that she had done everything she could for her people, and now it was time for her to rest. She hadn’t really wanted to leave; there were too many things and unspoken words that she needed to do and say, but the thought of still being alive wasn't as comforting as she thought it would be. 

Clarke kept her eyes closed, too afraid of what she would see when she opened them. Instead she started to slowly take stock of the damage done to the rest of her.

She was lying on something soft, probably one of the beds in the Mt. Weather med bay, and from the faint pinch in the crook of her elbow she figured that there was an IV needle stuck there. As for the rest of her, she couldn’t really feel too much. In a vague and muddled sort of way, Clarke was a little worried about that, but it was probably because of the painkillers that were undoubtedly being pumped through her body that she couldn’t feel the damage done by Cage’s fists or the bullet he put through her.

Cold phantom fingers ran their way down her spine at the thought of Cage, and just like that, her thoughts grew frantic and wild, bleeding into panic about Bellamy.

Clarke forced her eyes open, blinking sluggishly at the too bright lights above her. Her eyes were gummy and when she tried to lift her hand to rub at them, she could barely move them. Her arms were heavy and it took effort to move them, as if she had been asleep for much longer than a few hours or as if she was hurt more than she thought. 

Her breath whistled out of her nose as she tried to force air into her lungs, but all she could think was that Bellamy was still out there somewhere and she was stuck here with no idea of how bad she was hurt or what she could do to save him. The springs of the bed creaked under her as she struggled against the mattress. 

“Clarke? Don’t try to move.”

Clarke froze, still staring at the white lights above her. That wasn’t a voice that she had been expecting.

Slowly, she tilted her head on the pillow, following the voice to its source.

Abby sat in an uncomfortable looking plastic chair near the edge of her bed, hands pressing to Clarke’s mattress. She looked terrible; dark bags were under her eyes and her skin was pale. Her hair was in its usual ponytail, but it was frizzy and loose, falling into her face. It looked like she hadn’t slept in days.

Maybe she hadn’t. 

Clarke shifted her gaze behind Abby, taking in the rows of empty beds and machines that were now quiet and dusty from disuse. She was definitely in Mt. Weather’s med bay, but if Abby was here that meant that the plan had worked, that they were finally safe.

“Did we…?” Clarke started and then stopped, wincing at the sound of her voice. It was rough and hurt to talk.

Abby was there a second later, holding a small cup of water to Clarke’s lips. The lukewarm liquid eased the strain in her throat. 

“We won,” Abby said, setting the cup down on a small table near the bed before settling back into her chair. “We lost a few Grounders and three of our people, but the Mountain Men surrendered. There weren’t as many of them in here as we thought.”

Clarke nodded; loss of life was never good and the sacrifice of the Grounders wouldn't be forgotten, but it was much less than it could have been if Cage had had more people skulking in the mountain. “Bellamy?” she demanded, realizing that Abby hadn’t said anything about him. She struggled to sit up, but her body had other ideas and hardly moved at her command, and then Abby was there, standing over her and placing a soft hand on Clarke’s shoulder, holding her down.

“He’s fine,” Abby said quietly. There was a soft light gleaming in her eyes that Clarke didn’t really understand and didn’t bother to _try_ to understand. Abby nodded, gesturing with her chin to Clarke’s other side.

As quick as she was able, Clarke twisted around, eyes roving wildly until they landed on Bellamy's still form.

Relief washed over her as she looked at him. He was lying on the bed right next to hers, fast asleep. His blanket wasn’t pulled up all way and his torso was bare again, but now his arms and chest were wrapped with soft white bandages, hiding most of the cuts that Cage had given him. Purple bruises were still prominent along the rest of his skin, but those would heal with time.

Clarke’s eyes traveled from his body to his face. He was facing her, head tilted on his pillow, with his eyes closed as he breathed in and out slowly. He looked peaceful, almost like he hadn’t just suffered days of abuse and uneasy sleep. It was like his body had finally told him that it was okay, that he could relax now.

Clarke’s throat bobbed as she swallowed roughly. Guilt hit her hard; even if he was alive, there was no telling what he would be like when he woke up. A person couldn’t go through something like this and come out unscathed on the other side. 

She didn’t realize she was crying until Abby’s arms were around her, holding Clarke’s head to her chest. With her face pressed against her mother, Clarke almost felt like a little kid again, safe in the comfort of her mom’s embrace.

But the hot tears streaming down her cheeks and the memories of the past months were enough to remind her that she would never be that child again. Too much had happened, not just to her, but to all of them. 

“It’s okay, Clarke,” Abby whispered as her hands worked their way through Clarke’s tangled hair. “You’re safe now.”

Safe? What did that even mean? Even on the heels of their victory, Clarke doubted they would ever be safe again.

.

.

When Bellamy woke up, he couldn’t breathe. Not because his lungs weren’t working, but because he didn’t know where he was or where Clarke was.

His eyes were squeezed shut, but all he could _see_ was Clarke’s blood, slick on his hands, seeping into the lines and ridges of his skin. All he could _feel_ was Clarke’s limp body on his lap as he clung to her, begging her to hold on—

“Bellamy.” The voice was hoarse and low, but unmistakable.

Bellamy’s mouth went slack with relief and his hands trembled on the bed as he opened his eyes and turned, shifting his unwieldy body towards the sound of her voice. 

Clarke was on the bed next to his, pale and tired, but very much alive. She was lying on her side, facing him with her hands curled up to her chest. Her blonde hair was spread out on the pillow like some kind of halo. 

“You’re alive,” he rasped, but it came out too quiet and he had to say it again. “You’re _alive_.” 

A grin slipped onto Clarke’s mouth, and the tightness around her eyes eased just a little. She nodded, chin jerking out. “So are you.”

“How?” Bellamy wasn’t exactly complaining, but his memory was a little hazy, and he didn’t want to think too hard about what had happened after—

“Mom said they found us in Cage’s office,” Clarke said. She pushed herself up into a sitting position on the bed, wincing as she leaned back against the pillows. “She said that I was unconscious, but you were coherent enough to tell them what had happened.” She paused, lips pinching together as she eyed him. “What did happen? After Cage shot me?”

Bellamy licked his dry lips, trying to think of what to say. What _could_ he really say? He could try to explain the overwhelming horror as he watched her take the bullet meant for him. Or how he had been useless and completely helpless, stumbling away when Clarke shoved him to the side.

But he didn’t want to talk about any of it. He didn't want to talk about how her body had jerked, like she had been punched in the stomach, and then she had crumbled, falling limply to the ground as her shirt blossomed with a red stain. 

A blind rage had enveloped Bellamy’s whole being. After that, he hadn’t thought, just acted.

He could still feel the way Cage’s hot blood felt when it sprayed onto his face and neck, and how his heart had been pumping with satisfaction as he watched Cage drop, eyes losing their light.

What scared him the most was that he still didn’t regret it. He had listened to what Clarke was saying back in the office, of how she wanted peace, how they needed to stop killing each other, but he wasn’t sure he believed it. How _could_ he believe it after everything he had seen and done?

But if there was one thing Bellamy knew, it was that Cage would eventually haunt his nightmares, just like all the other faces of the people he had killed, unknown and known alike.

“Do you really want to know?” Bellamy finally asked, focusing on Clarke again. She was waiting patiently for him to speak, fingers playing with the frayed edge of her blanket. “I killed him. That’s all there is to it.”

She stared at him, blue eyes sharp, as she seemed to dissect him, looking for a way in, but Bellamy _wasn’t_ going to let her in this time. She must have seen that much on his face so she nodded slowly, sighing heavily as she pressed a hand to her stomach. “Do you—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Bellamy said, cutting her off sharply. A quick beat passed and he winced. “Sorry.”

Clarke shrugged. “It’s okay.”

It really wasn’t.

For a moment, they sat in silence, staring at each other unsure where their future lay. Not just for the two of them, but for the rest of their people. For some reason, it felt further away than it had been just days ago. Bellamy didn’t know what they were supposed to do now.

From the vague snatches of memory, in between screaming at Abby and Kane to save Clarke, Bellamy remembered seeing Lexa and some of her Grounders outside the glass doors of Cage’s office. They had scared him with their bloody and painted faces and dark eyes, but he reminded himself that they were on his side now.

It was hard to not feel bitter resentment towards them. Their help had come a little late; Jasper was still dead, and Bellamy was going to carry the weight of that for the rest of his life, a mental scar to join the physical ones that were stark lines and slashes against his skin.

“Bellamy?” Clarke’s voice was small and didn’t sound like her at all. 

He blinked his unshed tears away and looked at Clarke again. One look was all it took to remind him that while he was hurting, so was Clarke. Tears clung to Clarke's lashes, making her blue eyes as bright as the sky he hadn't seen in days. It was beautiful--she was beautiful. And in pain. 

“Are we ever going to be safe again?” she asked. She wasn’t looking at him when she asked, eyes fixed on her hands. “We’re never going to be the same people we once were, and I don’t know…I don’t know what to do.”

He didn’t either. He swallowed roughly. “I don’t think we were ever safe, Clarke, even on the Ark.”

“Then what do we do?”

The pain was raw in her voice, making Bellamy's heart clench. He shifted on his bed and tried to catch her eyes. “We survive.”

“How?” Clarke’s voice caught on the word, breath hitching in her lungs. She still wasn’t looking at him.

Bellamy slowly attempted to get up, and his body screamed in protest. His stomach ached and his arms shook as he used them to prop himself up. The sheet around his legs clung to him, making it harder than it should have been to kick them off. 

A minute passed in silence; the only sound was his labored breathing as he struggled out of the sheet. He finally managed it and swung his legs off the edge of the bed, touching the tips of his toes to the cold tile before pressing his feet firmly against the floor. He stood up carefully and paused, throwing a hand out blindly for something to grip while he waited for his head to stop spinning.

“Bellamy…” Clarke was finally watching him, spine rigid and tense as she waited for him to fall over.

He didn’t, but his stomach was churning with nausea as he stumbled the few steps over to her bed.

He flapped a hand at her, and she moved her legs, pulling them up from under the covers to her chest. He grimaced as he sat down heavily, letting his legs hang off the edge. His IV line tugged at his arm, pulled taut from where it was hooked near his bed, but he didn’t move to fix it. 

Bellamy took a shaky breath, letting the recycled air swirl inside his lungs, as he twisted to look at Clarke.

Her blonde hair was loose around her shoulders, tangled and thick from where she had been laying on it, but for recovering from a bullet to her stomach, she looked better than she should have. But this was Clarke. She was strong, always had been and always would be.

It occurred to Bellamy that he didn’t know what day it was; he didn’t know how long they had been lying, unconscious, in Mt. Weather’s med bay. From how decent he felt, which admittedly still wasn’t great, it had to have been a few days.

Maybe Abby had decided to keep them asleep, even when they weren't in danger of dying; she knew her daughter well, just like Bellamy, and it wouldn’t have been long before Clarke decided that she was done with being bedridden and tried to do something stupid like get up, probably wrecking the work done to save her life. 

Bellamy shook his head, pushing those useless thoughts aside; Clarke was still waiting for him to speak, eyes pinned to his hunched form. He reached forward, palm up, letting his hand rest on the blanket between the two of them.

Hesitantly, Clarke collapsed her legs into a crisscross shape, mouth pressing together at the movement, and leaned towards him, placing her hand in his. It was cold and much smaller than his, but Bellamy wrapped his fingers around her hand, encasing it carefully, like it was a delicate thing.

He scooted closer, so Clarke wouldn’t have to reach forward so much, letting her ease back against her pillows without letting go of his hand.

“You want to know how we’re going to get through this?” he finally said lowly; no one else was in the room with them, but these words were just for her. “You and I, we're going to survive. The 100 are going to survive. We’re going to survive because we’re _together_.”

Clarke’s hand twitched in Bellamy’s, and he almost regretted using the same word he had when they had killed the mountain by pulling the lever.

But the truth was that none of them were going to survive the ground without each other, and the sooner they reclaimed that word, the sooner they could start living.

“Together, huh?” Clarke said. She cleared her throat and something shifted in her eyes as she looked at him. “Sometimes I want to leave Arkadia and all of them behind." Her voice was soft. "Just take your hand and run away.” She ducked her head as if that was a shameful thought, but Bellamy’s heart skipped a beat and he tightened his grip on hers.

“Me too,” he whispered back.

She looked up sharply, searching his face. A small smile slipped onto her lips, and for a brief moment they imagined it. Just the two of them, leaving everything behind: their bloody past, their mistakes, their regret—all of it. They would find some place new to settle down and become the people they were supposed to be. It would be easier this time because they wouldn't be constantly at war or fighting like wild animals for survival. 

It was a bright, beautiful thing, and it danced inside Bellamy’s mind, filling every dark corner with its light. A smile tugged across his lips and all he could feel was Clarke’s hand in his. 

But then he thought about his sister and the smiled slid off his lips as if it had never been. When he looked at Clarke, he could see the same thoughts flashing across her face: They could never leave their people behind.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “Even if we can’t do that, we can still find a way to live here. You’ve brokered peace with the Grounders? With Lexa?” His mouth twisted over her name. Forgiveness was a necessary thing, but Bellamy couldn’t quite give it to her yet.

Clarke nodded. “I have.” She paused and then added, “It’s mostly thanks to you.”

“Me?” That was a surprise. He was pretty sure that Lexa liked him as much as he liked her. 

“I was too…angry with Lexa and the Grounders to ever approach them on my own, but your life was in danger.” She offered him a shrug. “I couldn’t let my feelings get in the way of saving you.”

Bellamy’s toes curled against the tile floor where they were pressed, and a shiver ran down his spine, but for the first time in a long time it wasn’t because he was scared for his life or worried about the future.

“I thought I was too much of a pain in the ass,” he said, surprised that he managed to keep his voice steady.

Clarke laughed, clear and loud, but she cut it short, pressing a hand to her stomach with a wince. “Oh, you definitely are.” She shifted, trying to get closer to him. “But, Bellamy, I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

They were close now, almost close enough to feel each other’s warmth radiating from their skin.

“I…” Bellamy started, but was stopped as someone let out a small scream of delight behind them, and almost knocked him off Clarke’s bed as they bounced onto it and into his back. Arms encircled his chest, pinning him tight to a smaller body in quick embrace.

A spark of irritation shot through Bellamy at the interruption, but it disappeared quickly, washing away as Octavia jumped off the bed and said, “Bell! You’re awake! You’re _finally_ awake.” She circled around, keeping her hands touching Bellamy the whole time, as if she was afraid that he would vanish if she let go. 

When was facing him, she practically threw herself into him again, arms going around him in a tight hug. It squeezed the air out of his lungs and made his ribs twinge, but Bellamy didn’t care.

He hadn’t gotten a good look at Octavia, but it was enough to see that this wasn’t the Grounder side that she had adopted to survive, this was his little sister, happy to see her brother. He had almost come to terms with the idea that he had lost that version of Octavia. He knew that she was growing up, but some days he just wanted his little sister. The one who adored him and was free with her smiles and hugs.

He wanted to savor this while he could, but even as Octavia hugged him tight, Bellamy didn’t let go of Clarke’s hand.

.

.

Bellamy was dressing in his own clothes for the first time in what felt like weeks. On the other side of a thin screen, Clarke was dressing her own clothes.

It had been some time since he had killed Cage, ending this living hell—Bellamy wasn’t sure how many, and hadn’t bother to keep track of it since waking up. All he knew was that Abby had finally decided that he and Clarke were well enough to leave the med bay.

In the privacy of the makeshift room, Bellamy was slowly examining his body, or at least his chest and stomach; he had pulled his pants on immediately, letting them hang loosely around his hips.

Without prying eyes, Bellamy carefully traced his fingers along the raised skin that were slashed across his stomach and torso. Most were healing nicely, but some had been deep and since they hadn’t been stitched closed immediately they were going to scar, a constant reminder of what Cage had done to him. His mouth twisted. 

At the least the bruises were mostly gone, and even the one around his neck was faded, erasing the way Cage’s fingers had dug into the soft skin and cut off his air for a terrifying moment. 

Bellamy caught his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing on it, as he stared down at the brand that was peeking out his waistband. It was finally healing and looked better than the last time he had looked at in the cell, but just because it was healing didn’t mean that it was going to disappear; this one was here to stay, forever seared into his skin.

Bile rose in his throat, sour against his tongue, and he struggled to swallow it down.

His fingers lingered against the brand for a second more and then he tore them away and reached for his dark shirt, pulling it roughly over his head. It settled across his shoulders and covered his scared and bruised body. He felt safer with the small protection that his clothes offered him, and even if it didn’t really make sense, he didn’t question it.

When they were both dressed, they started making their way out of the med bay. Clarke was leaning heavily on him, her arm linked through his, while her other was wrapped around her stomach.

She had apologized, cheeks flushed, when she asked to hang on to him, but Bellamy would be lying if he said that he minded.

The halls were empty and quiet as they carefully made their way through them, and it was hard to not think about how only a short while ago, Bellamy had been running through them, trying to find an escape. Without meaning to, his breath quickened and his vision briefly went fuzzy.

He could feel Clarke’s eyes on him as he struggled to make his lungs work and blinked away the darkness that was threatening to overwhelm him. He silently yelled at himself for being stupid. He knew the fight was over, but it was hard to make his body understand that he wasn’t going back to Cage’s lab. It took a moment, longer than he would've liked, before Bellamy was breathing easily again. Heat flushed along his neck, trailing up to his cheeks. 

“You know…” Clarke said softly, “it’s okay.” It sounded like she wanted to say more, but when Bellamy threw a sidelong look at her, her lips were pressed together.

“Do you really believe that?” Bellamy asked, unable to keep the bitterness from seeping into his words.

“I do,” Clarke said firmly. She tugged him closer and he almost stumbled into her. “We’re _alive_ , despite everything. I have to believe there’s a reason for that.”

She fell silent, eyes ahead, as Bellamy mulled over that; he wasn’t sure he wanted to think about it too hard. His head swiveled as he looked around; he didn’t know where they were going, but Clarke seemed to and was gently leading the way.

“Well,” Bellamy finally said, realizing that Clarke was waiting for him to say something, “we’ll just have to make sure my life was worth all this.” It was meant to be a joke, but Clarke didn't laugh.

She abruptly stopped walking, holding Bellamy back as he attempted to keep moving forward.

“You _are_ ,” she said as she spun him around to face her. She grimaced at the movement, but stayed in front of him, her spine straight. 

Bellamy could hear the sound of voices and laughter nearby and he tried to listen to that and not focus on Clarke, but her hands were suddenly on his face, freezing the breath in his mouth, and she tilted his head down so he was actually looking her in the eyes.

He blinked. Once, twice, and then studied her face.

Her hair was pulled out of her eyes and was actually combed and clean; it was a golden and looked soft, but Bellamy wasn’t brave enough to reach out and touch it. She was still pale, but the bruises from Cage’s knuckles were starting to fade, and her eyes were bright. And so fucking blue.

Her hands were warm against his skin, anchoring him into the moment, reminding him that he was alive and this was the life he had been given.

Slowly, Bellamy reached up and took her hands from his face, bringing them down to hang between the two of them. “So are you.”

Clarke didn’t quite flinch, but it was enough and Bellamy saw it. He cracked a smile. “How fucked up is it that we both don’t believe that we should have survived this?”

She returned the smile, fingers tightening around his. “I’ll believe for you.”

“And I'll believe for you,” he returned.

“Then, maybe we’ll figure out how to do this.” It wasn't much, but it was a promise, and for some reason, that was all Bellamy really needed. Suddenly, the idea of living in this world wasn't so bad. Not if he was with Clarke. 

Still holding one of his hands, Clarke turned and they continued a few more steps down the hall, reaching an opening that led into the large dining area that Bellamy recognized from before. Back then it had been filled with death, full of Mountain Men that had died when he and Clarke had pulled the lever. Now, there were Arkadians and Grounders alike, mingling among the tables and laughing with each other.

He tore his eyes from the scene in front of him and looked at Clarke. There was an unabashed joy radiating from her as she stared out to the very thing that she had been fighting for.

It looked something like peace.

Bellamy pulled on her hand and she glanced up at him. She was smiling, light and easy.

“We’re going to do this,” he said. “You and me.”

 _Together_.

\--the end-- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay...(thanks self doubt and anxiety).   
> Anyway. This is it! It's a little cheesy and not quite what I wanted, but it's finished. Thank you to everyone who read, and especially left me kudos and comments! 
> 
> <3

**Author's Note:**

> Couple of things:
> 
> a) I've wanted to explore a what-if scenario of the ending of season 2 since I saw it years ago. I always thought there was so much potential for the writers to dive deeper into the trauma of what had happened to the 100 since they landed on earth, but they never really did, expect for a few characters (Clarke and Jasper are the two that come to mind). I also felt like they cleaned up the Mt. Weather mess way too quickly. It was my favorite plot and they finished it in one season. 
> 
> b) All that being said, this fic doesn't include Primfaya or Ali or really anything after season 2. It's basically what I wanted to see in season 3, but I honestly don't really know where I'm going with it. So if you feel so inclined, drop me a comment on things that you'd like to see or have explored. I could definitely use some feedback and ideas.
> 
> c) I don't really write romance. It's just not my thing so it's not really going to be present in this fic. Obviously, I love Clarke and Bellamy to pieces and they are straight up SOULMATES, but I'm incapable of writing them doing more than giving each other longing looks and maybe holding hands.
> 
> d) Thank you for reading!


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